The Potions Assistant
by TheGrange
Summary: After the war, Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts for her seventh year. At the administration's request, she becomes Professor Snape's assistant. As sparks fly between the two, a mysterious ailment afflicts Hogwart's students. Together, the two must solve the mystery and save the school.
1. Chapter 1

Note: Hi all, this is my first attempt at fanfiction. Comments and criticisms very appreciated. Thanks for reading!

"Professor!" Hermione gasped as she watched Nagini's fangs pierce Snape's pale neck. As the snake slithered away, she darted forward to press her hands around his wounds. Beside her, Harry and Ron crouched, watching as she attempted to staunch the blood flow. Snape brought his wand to his scalp and gently withdrew a memory, which he deposited into a small vial. Harry capped it and tucked it into his jeans. The trio could tell he was preparing for death.

Without realizing what was happening, she felt a sudden surge of heat in her hands. They glowed, as if lit from a fire within. Snape gasped and arched his chest, his breathing labored. Her hands grew hotter and glowed brighter, but she dared not remove them. A white-hot energy pulsed through them and flowed from her quivering fingertips to his throat. The bleeding paused briefly before giving a last throb and ceasing. Hermione pressed her fingertips into his wounds more firmly as if daring the strange magic to continue healing him.

She was destined to be disappointed.

Though the bleeding stopped, the wound remained fresh and the professor's breathing continued to come in gasps and throaty moans. She tore a strip of fabric from her shirt and, casting a quick cleansing spell, wrapped it tightly around his throat.

"Levicorpus," she whispered, floating the professor high off the ground. She knew they could not carry him and that without Madame Pomfrey's assistance, he would die—mourned by few—in the Shrieking Shack.

Crouching, the three scuttled back to the castle, with Snape's motionless body floating between them. She magicked him into the building and carried the dying man into the hospital wing along as Ron resumed fighting and Harry disappeared—as was his habit, she thought wryly— for what she assumed was probably another one of his foolishly heroic stunts. Hermione lowered him onto a bed and leaned forward.

No response.

She slapped him quickly on the cheek, noting with surprise at how cool and smooth his skin felt.

Still no response.

"Severus," she breathed into his ear. He stirred, so slightly as to almost be imperceptible.

"Li…..mione," He exhaled and gave a shudder, appearing for all intents and purposes to be deceased.

 _Five months later_

Hermione breathed on the glass of the window and rubbed it clear with her sleeve, allowing her to peer out at the lush Scottish countryside as it zoomed by. Although surrounded by friends—Ginny, Luna, Dean—she keenly felt Harry and Ron's absence from their usual compartment on the Hogwart's Express. She felt a sharp elbow in the rib.

"Missing Ron already?" Ginny teased, a smear of chocolate marring her chin. Hermione smiled and said nothing. In truth, she was deeply conflicted by her new relationship with one of her best friends. It had created a distance between the three of them as Harry sought to give the couple privacy while still being friends. The situation was further complicated by all three residing in the Burrow over the summer holiday. Constantly thrown together, Ron showed a newfound possessiveness, wrapping his arm around her whenever another single man approached. Hermione found his approach stifling and though she wasn't interested romantically in anyone else, she wasn't entirely sure Ron was the ideal mate for her. Not for the first time, she wondered what things would have been like if she had kept in better contact with Viktor Krum. They hadn't much in common though, she mused, as his interests were more physical (in more ways than one) than hers.

The door to the compartment opened. Draco's pale, pointed face jutted in. Behind him, they could see a short, slender dark haired girl staring at the ground. Draco grimaced and slammed it shut, saying nothing to the startled students inside.

"Who was that?" Dean asked curiously, "has Malfoy bought himself a girlfriend?"

Ginny snorted. Luna looked up from her copy of the Quibbler.

"Her name is Astoria," she responded in her high, sing-song voice, "we met her on holiday in Norway while we were hunting for Grambling Gremlins."

"She's Norwegian?"

"No, English. She's been homeschooled, but her mother decided to send her to Hogwarts after her father was sent to Azkaban. Her governess was very interested in speaking to someone who spoke her own language. She hadn't seen any Gremlins though, very disappointing."

Her recitation finished, Luna resumed her reading. Hermione noticed with some interest that her friend was perusing the magazine sideways.

"Probably a Slytherin, then," Dean said under his breath.

Their conversation moved to trivial things and Hermione resumed staring out the window, eventually falling asleep with her forehead pressed to the cool glass. She awoke as the train pulled into the station and quickly pulled her robes over her head.

As Hermione and her friends approached the carriages, she noticed with a pang that nearly everyone over the age of thirteen could see the thestrals. The war had been a difficult time for them all. They approached the castle, the wheels clattering over the medieval stones. She noticed with some relief that, despite the battle several months prior, the castle appeared to be nearly in its former state.

Pressed tightly together, the group trudged into the building, seating themselves in their customary seats at the Gryffindor table. With a wave, Luna stepped lightly over to her fellow Ravenclaws. Again, Hermione felt incredibly lonely without Ron rubbing his empty stomach and moaning or Harry glaring at Draco beside her. Peering across the Great Hall, she noticed Draco and Astoria sitting very close together, though neither appeared to notice the other. She turned her focus away from her former enemy and looked up at the High Table, thoughtfully taking in each professor. Every one, she observed, seemed older and more careworn. Everyone, that is, except Snape, who looked younger and more carefree than she had ever seen him. The end of his role as double agent had clearly lifted a great weight from his shoulders. Her gaze lingered over the professor, whose throat was still wrapped in bandages as it had been the last time she had seen him. Hadn't his wounds healed by now? He must have felt her stare on him as he turned and looked at her. A hint of a smile twitched the corners of his mouth up as he brought his hand to stroke the bandages. She felt a tap on the shoulder.

"Miss Granger, could I have a word in the hall before the first years arrive?" She turned and looked at McGonagall.

"Of course, professor." She stood and followed the elderly witch out the doors.

"Miss Granger, as you are aware, Professor Snape nearly died during the battle in May," she paused and gazed at her pupil, "although he is well enough to resume teaching, we feel that he needs assistance maintaining the storeroom and doing some of the day to day maintenance. For that reason, we—that is, the faculty, not Professor Snape—have decided to hire an assistant to do the physical labor he finds so taxing these days. It would only be a few hours a week and would not interfere with your studies." The witch paused and looked sympathetically at Hermione over her glasses, "I hear the Healers at St. Mungo's have been unable to lift the Oblivate spell from your parents and that you have been left with very little in the way of financial support for the time being. We have, therefore, chosen you for several reasons. You have demonstrated the most aptitude for the subject in the past, which would be useful in assisting the professor, and you have a demonstrated need for extra money."

Hermione started to interrupt and thought better of it, realizing with a start that everything McGonagall said was true. Although she had not felt a financial pinch this summer, having stayed with the Weasleys, she knew she could not count on the impoverished family's generosity forever. Without her parents' support, she had been left with her meager savings account. That would quickly run out, especially after she finished her studies in May and moved out of the castle permanently. It would be beneficial, she thought quickly, to pad her account more over the course of the year and be able to support herself until she started a job. She nodded jerkily at the professor.

"I should be honored to be Professor Snape's assistant."

McGonagall sighed with relief.

"He's very opposed to the idea, you understand," she warned briskly, "and it may take some time for him to get used to the idea of receiving aid. Nevertheless, he'll be expecting you tomorrow afternoon around four."

They heard a clattering behind them as the first years trooped in, some looking remarkably sodden as if they had fallen in the lake. Understanding the conversation was at an end, Hermione darted through a side door and resumed her place at the table.

"What was that all about?" Ginny asked. Hermione shrugged and they all watched the young students march down the hall, led by the indomitable Professor McGonagall. Just behind her, Filch carried a stool and the tatty Sorting Hat. Mrs. Norris trotted smugly beside him.

"They asked me to be Professor Snape's assistant," she replied sotto voce, "I'll be preparing and restocking his slimy dungeon, I suppose."

Ginny grimaced and spoke quietly as the Sorting Hat began its song, "I can't imagine having to spend extra time with Snape outside of class. Being trapped in the dungeon with him twice a week is bad enough. Speaking of—why isn't he still teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? And who's taken the position?"

"Perhaps he's had enough of the Dark Arts," Hermione smiled ruefully, "I think anyone would after what he's been through."

Ginny nodded her assent, "probably. Still—"

Dean cut her off midsentence, "I'll bet that's the new teacher." They saw a petite blonde witch at the end of the table, her pale blonde hair glowing in the dim light. She looked nearly as surly as the Potions professor sitting next to her.

"Don't tell me we have a Malfoy teaching here. She's probably another Umbridge type." Dean muttered.

The Hat finished with a flourish and the Hall erupted in its usual applause. McGonagall began to read out names. Hermione stared intently at the new professor and, as if feeling the student's eyes boring into her bowed face, the new professor raised her head and gave Hermione an inquisitive look. There was no malice in it, but neither was there warmth. She cocked an eyebrow and returned gazing at something invisible just before the High Table.

As the last student—a Hufflepuff—scuttled off to their table, Filch removed both the stool and the Hat from the Hall. McGonagall took her place behind the podium and cleared her throat.

"Welcome to everyone! Before we begin the feast, I have an announcement. Professor Severus Snape has resumed his old post as Potions Master," She paused for light and scattered applause. Snape inclined his head in recognition, "and we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. She comes to us all the way from Romania. Please join me in welcoming Professor Ardentia Dracula." She beamed severely—how did she even _do_ that?, Hermione wondered—as students began to clap, hesitantly at first, but with increasing fervor. The new professor bowed her head in acknowledgement, a faint smile touching her lips.

"Dracula? Like the vampire? I should have known we'd have another beast after the werewolf!" Dean exclaimed noisily.

"I'll bet she's part Veela, like Fleur. She certainly looks the part," Ginny whispered to Hermione. They smiled knowingly at each other. If she was, this professor would have no difficulty commanding the loyalties of her male—and some female—students.

Just then, platters upon platters of food appeared on the tables. Golden turkeys, basted to perfection, gleamed beside mountains of mashed potatoes, butter drizzling down the creamy peaks. Golden carrots glistened beside piles of steamed peas. Further down, a tureen of gravy shimmered. The students quickly began to spear sausages and scoop bread pudding onto their waiting plates, the air suddenly filled with the clatter of cutlery on china and the boisterous laughter of students reunited after a long and difficult summer.

As Hermione lifted her fork to her mouth, she glanced up at the High Table and saw Snape staring at her with interest, his own plate empty. With a shudder, she turned her back to him and started a conversation with Ginny. When she looked back several minutes later, he was gone.

That night, as she settled into her soft bed in Gryffindor tower, she thought back to the enigmatic look on Snape's face as he'd watched her eat. Was it anger? Irritation? Or something milder? She punched her pillow and turned it over and, for the first time, nearly wished she had joined the Ministry instead of coming back to school. Her new job with the surly professor would only complicate her life. She could imagine the degrading things he would make her do—scrub cauldrons or wash dishes or something otherwise menial. Angrily she buried her face into the offending cushion and willed herself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Thanks for the feedback and the follows!

N.B: if you recognize the character, it's Rowling's, not mine. All praise to the Queen for creating this world!

The following day, Hermione stood at Snape's door promptly at 3:55. Unsure of her duties, she dressed casually in jeans, trainers, and a Gryffindor t-shirt. She debated with herself. Was she meant to go directly inside? Was she supposed to knock? She had visited very few professors outside of their normally scheduled office and class hours and then, it was typically Dumbledore's office with Harry and Ron. What was the protocol for assistants?

She raised her hand and realized with a start that it was shaking from nerves. She drew back in preparation for a knock when Snape's voice interrupted.

"Stop standing out there like an imbecile and come in."

Hermione flushed. Clearly his near-death experience had done nothing to humble the man. She turned the frigid iron handle and stepped in, taking a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The room was absolutely covered in dust, cobwebs clinging tenaciously to the weathered stones. She knew he must have had students that day—hadn't they disrupted the mess and made it tidier at all?

"Well?" His voice jolted her out of her thoughts.

"Good afternoon, professor." She stepped over to his desk cautiously, avoiding the spiders that scuttled across the medieval stones.

"As you see, this room is absolutely filthy. I have found myself unable to…rise to the challenge of cleaning it thoroughly since my…since the spring." He finished. Her eyes finally adjusted to the light—or lack thereof—she saw him reclining in his usual chair. His fingertips were pressed together, his elbows resting on the armrests. Above his pale fingers, his black eyes glittered dangerously. The overall effect was unsurprisingly sinister.

"Have the house elves been neglecting the dungeons?" She inquired. Although still firmly opposed to the concept of work without wages—slavery of any sort, especially in the modern age, was positively barbaric!—she knew Hogwarts was not about to change its centuries-old policies of utilizing their labor.

"House elves are too clumsy to come down here," he responded, unmoving, "it took only one such "accident" for me to ban any of them from coming down here and touching anything. Some of the ingredients are quite rare and would be too difficult to replace. Other times, potions in progress must be left under very specific conditions for a successful outcome. The delicate art of brewing potions is quite beyond…lesser beings." He finished softly.

Again, she turned red.

"House elves are perfectly intelligent creatures, if they could only be educated!" She replied hotly. He cocked an eyebrow at her and sneered.

"You would think so, wouldn't you?"

She opened her mouth to respond before he cut her off.

"But I did not invite you here—at all, really, but that's beside the point—to debate the ethics of house elf labor conditions. As I recall, your purpose here is to be my assistant. So, assist me. The dungeon is clearly in need of a good scrub. "

"Couldn't you just Scourgify it?" She asked sourly. The last thing she wanted after a long day of classes and before an equally long evening of study was to scour the floors of the odious man's filthy dungeon.

"I've always found it beneficial to the soul to partake in the less savory aspects of cleanliness," he responded silkily, "therefore, you will be cleaning without magic. It does not do to neglect basic knowledge in favor of magical simplicity. Furthermore, I find a good hand scrubbing to be more efficacious than a spell. They are not infallible, as I'm sure you well know."

With a wave of his wand— _now really, how difficult would it be for him to do the same thing and clean the place himself?—_ he neatly placed a bucket of warm, sudsy, silvery water next to her. An emerald sponge floated among the bubbles. _Of course his cleaning supplies would be Slytherin colored_ , she thought bitterly.

She decided to begin with the tables and other flat surfaces, quickly wiping the dust from their tops and—she grimaced—the wads of Drooble's bubble gum from the undersides. She could feel him laughing at her silently as she pried dry, yet somehow still sticky, globs from the worn legs and undercarriages of the old tables. Beneath one she spied familiar initials: JP + LE and smiled to herself. She'd be sure to owl Harry and let him know of the adorable memento.

Once she was finished with the tables, she turned to the walls, dragging the enormous sponge over the stones. She only made it halfway up as she was far too short to reach to the ceiling. A ladder appeared next to her.

"Be sure to get all the cobwebs. They drop into my potions at inconvenient times and spoil them."

Hermione pressed her lips together more tightly and clambered up the ladder awkwardly, trying not to drop the heavy bucket or tip over. It was an unexpectedly attractive piece of furniture, the dark burnished wood gleaming in the dim light of the room, and for the first time, she appreciated his refined taste. It was natural, she considered, that the ladder would be so beautifully constructed; after all, he took immense care with everything he did. Although his clothes were a uniformly dismal onyx, they were made of fine wool and beautifully tailored.

"Are you done thinking about my clothes? A spider just flung itself in your bucket. You might consider fishing it out before cleansing my walls with its hairy legs."

She gasped and rotated her upper body as much as she could without flinging herself off the ladder.

"Are you reading my mind?" She demanded.

"As I'm sure Mr. Potter has informed you," he drawled, "reading minds is an impossibility. The mind is, after all, not a book. Although," he paused and sneered, "yours appears to be an incredibly dull amalgamation of encyclopedic knowledge and inane schoolgirl fantasies about clothes and bubble gum. As for your thoughts… they're as loud and as clear to me as if you were screeching them in my ear. You should close your mind off. You never know who's on the hunt for secrets."

"You mean Occlumency?"

He raised an eyebrow, "are you aware of any other form of…'mind reading?'"

"No, but…"

Was he offering to teach her? His half-assed attempt at teaching Harry had gone abysmally.

"Perhaps you can find a nice _book_ to teach you." He chuckled to himself.

She gripped the ladders edge tighter, her mouth opening and closing like a dying fish as she grasped for a retort.

He smiled thinly.

"Your hold on your emotions is about as tenuous as Potters; that is, nonexistent. Finish the walls and you may go off to dinner, where," Snape leaned forward, his eyes narrowed, "I expect you'll regale your little friends with horrifying stories of the degradations you've been forced to endure at my hands. And to think, this is only the first day. Imagine what other embarrassments I'll inflict upon your helpless person." He smirked and leaned back in his chair, raising an issue of the _Daily Prophet_ above his face so that it was hidden from her view.

"Corruption in the Ministry? Potter and Weasley's Placements Under Scrutiny!" flashed the title. Beneath, a photo of an exasperated Harry shielded his face as Ron waved awkwardly to the camera.

Hermione turned back around to the wall and began to scrub the wall vigorously, sloshing soapy water everywhere. She didn't even bother to remove the spider, scattering bits of furry leg all over the wet walls.

It would serve him right to have to work in a room coated in a thin layer of insect parts.


	3. Chapter 3

"I can't believe Snape made you clean the walls by hand," Ginny exclaimed. Hermione dropped her books on a desk and plopped in the seat in front of them. Her friend followed suit.

"I know," she said in a tired voice, "I'm completely exhausted. I'd forgotten how much exertion it takes to properly clean. And I still have to do the floor!"

Ginny shook her head, "are you sure it's worth a couple Galleons a week to be Snape's slave?"

"I'm not sure," she signed, "but I haven't much money left in my account and I'll be out on my own in a matter of months. In the meantime, I have school supplies to purchase and Christmas gifts…" she trailed off as their new professor swept into the classroom, her sapphire robes swirling behind her. With a flick of her wand, the shutters to the windows slammed shut simultaneously, drenching the room in darkness.

"Wands out," she said shortly in a thick accent, "we'll be starting with drills. Pair up with people from another house. No friends. On your guard."

Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, completely baffled.

"Have we got ourselves another Mad Eye?" Ginny whispered, twirling her wand between her fingertips. Her friend shrugged, "Better than an Umbridge, I suppose."

"Cut the chatter!" Dracula snapped, glaring at the pair.

Reluctantly, Hermione partnered with Draco Malfoy as Ginny stood opposite Pansy Parkinson.

"How's Weasley? Do the two of you sit on street corners and beg for change to share a sandwich?" Draco sneered.

Hermione flushed, "For your information, he happens to make excellent money as an Auror-in-training. Pity your father couldn't buy you a post at the Ministry. It must be humiliating to return to Hogwarts after your _illustrious_ career as a Death Eater."

Draco was clearly taken aback, his pale skin burning with irritation. He stepped forward and hissed in her face, "You better hope we don't practice any Unforgivable Curses. You'll be fucking Filch in the Great Hall if I get the chance."

"The only way you'd ever get a girl naked is to curse her!" She whispered angrily, leaning in to stare into his eyes.

"I said cut the chatter. Ten points from Gryffindor!" The professor exclaimed in a harsh voice, pointing her wand menacingly at Hermione. She flinched.

Ginny stared at Hermione and mouthed, "but not Slytherin?" Hermione made a face at the redhead, silently pleading with her not to lose anymore House points. She turned back to Draco, who snickered at her.

"Looks like your time in the sun is over, Mudblood. The Dark Lord may be gone, but his legacy remains. A pureblood professor will get the job done right. You'll see."

Hermione thinned her lips, pressing them together tightly. If at all possible, she was going to refrain from speaking any further during class.

Professor Dracula began to call out spells. Draco and Hermione dueled back forth, sparks flying from their wands as they circled each other. As an attempt to regain Gryffindor's lost points, she began casting her spells in total silence. The professor took no notice of her advanced wandwork, granting points to nearly everyone in the class but Ginny and Hermione.

To Draco, who nearly knocked his partner off her feet, she granted a full twenty points. Hermione, who wordlessly lifted Draco off the ground and flung him into the wall, she ignored. By the end of the class, Hermione was fuming.

She stuffed her book and writing materials into her bag angrily and slung it over her shoulder, stalking out of the classroom, Ginny immediately behind her.

"What was her problem? Your spellwork was excellent! I've never managed to get the hang of silent ones. I wish Harry had spent more time on them in the D.A."

"I don't even care. I really don't think there's anything she could teach us that we haven't already learned from Harry or in battle," Hermione responded brusquely. They entered the Great Hall and sat at their usual seats. Across the room she could see Draco motioning wildly with his hands, gesturing frequently at the Gryffindor table. Around him the Slytherins erupted in laughter.

"I suppose with Harry gone, you're his new target," Ginny said sourly. Hermione shrugged as platters began to appear on the tables, "It's my last year and frankly, I don't care much. I just want to get my NEWTS finished and find a good job at the Ministry," she responded, surveying the array of delicious food, choosing a slice of decadent chocolate gateau, a scoop of glazed carrots, a slab from the glistening roast beef, and new potatoes. She started to shovel the food into her mouth quickly, causing Dean and Ginny to pause, their forks halfway to their mouths.

"In a hurry?" Dean smiled. Seamus sat next to him and reached across the table for a hunk of sourdough bread.

"Something wrong, Hermione? New professor's a bit of a bitch, isn't she?" He spread the butter across the surface of the bread with his thumb, stuffing the whole slice in his mouth.

"She's a hag. I have a free period after lunch and I'd like to take a walk. Get away from _her_." Hermione looked up at the High Table, where Dracula was gingerly slicing a potato, delicately lifting it into her waiting mouth. Beside her, Snape glowered into his goblet of pumpkin juice, his plate piled high with the greasiest cuts of meat.

"And Snape's an ass," Ginny added, tilting her head at him, "he's made 'mione his slave."

Dean choked on his carrot, "are you serious? Does McGonagall know?"

Hermione sighed and began to cut her slice of meat, "I'm sure she's aware of his idiosyncrasies. Still, they chose me to be his assistant. I'm sure they thought I could handle it. Besides," she grabbed a slice from the sourdough loaf, "my will is just as strong as his. If he thinks he can break my spirit by forcing me to scrub his walls, he's got another thing coming."

As if he had heard her words, his head jerked up and he stared at her with another one of those enigmatic expressions. He raised an eyebrow and lifted his goblet to her slightly in a subtle toast. It was very confusing, she thought, turning her focus back to her near-empty plate.

The meal finished, she took her things and headed toward the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. A vise-like grip tightened around her right forearm, causing her bag to drop to the floor. With a curse, she yanked herself free and stooped to pick her things up. As she stuffed her belongings back into her worn satchel, she raised her eyes.

Shiny black shoes.

Black cashmere robes.

Unnaturally pale neck.

Obsidian eyes, narrowed in annoyance.

 _Snape_.

"Yes, _professor_?" With all her things returned to her bag, she stood to face him. His lips thinned in annoyance.

"Come to the dungeon tomorrow at two after your last class. I'll be…expecting you." His words were laden with innuendo. Hermione swallowed hard as his eyes bore into hers. The air felt hot and thick.

"Of course." He gave her a curt nod and turned on his heel, his robes billowing around him like a storm cloud.

She continued her trudge up to the tower, depositing her things at the foot of her bed before climbing onto the windowsill. She snatched a parchment and quill from her nightstand and balanced them on her worn copy of Hogwarts, A History.

 _Ron_ , she began, chewing the feather of her quill thoughtfully _, it's been a rough start to the year without you and Harry. Snape still hasn't fully recovered from the war and they've offered me the position of Potions Assistant. It's as dreadful as you'd expect. Tea in Hogsmeade this weekend? I've a lot to tell both of you._

She started to sign her name and paused. Should she add something more? _Miss you_ , she scribbled, _yours, Hermione_. She sealed the letter with a dollop of scarlet wax and waited impatiently for it to dry, staring out the window as she did so. Before her, the rolling green hills stretched endlessly, the azure sky dotted with pristine white clouds. It seemed a pity to be inside on such a day.

The wax dry, she stuffed the letter in her pocket and scurried down the stairs, making her way to the Owlery without meeting any other students. She tied the letter to a fluffy grey owl, who hooted at her before stretching its wings and soaring into the sky. She watched enviously, the reality of her situation sinking onto her with leaden weight.

She started to muse on her first week. Professor Dracula had been a nightmare. She couldn't remember many teachers who hadn't loved her work ethic and intense efforts in class. Snape, of course, but he was a foul git. Speaking of… classes usually ended at three. He knew she would be out by two the following day. Had he been studying her schedule? Tracking her movements?

The thought of Snape dedicating so much time to antagonizing her made her shiver.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione paused before Snape's door and rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. Unable to sleep the previous night, she had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning reading her favorite Muggle novel, _Pride and Prejudice_. She had always admired the complete transformation it took for the main characters to humble themselves enough to admit they really loved each other. She had finished the book early, the rosy fingers of dawn tentatively climbing over the hillside as she turned the last page. For the two hours before breakfast she had attempted to nap, tossing and turning fitfully as visions of Snape's sneering face and Ron's sheepishly awkward one rotated in an endless circle before her.

She grasped the handle of the door, recoiling from the icy iron as she turned it.

Snape looked up at her as she entered the room.

"Miss Granger," he said coolly, "there will be no need to scrub the floor today. You may sweep it, then inventory the storeroom. There will be a checklist affixed to the inside of the door. Be sure the quantities in the jar are accurate and note any inconsistencies. If necessary, I'll shop over the weekend."

Finished speaking, he turned back to his stack of parchments. He grimaced at the topmost one, swiping at it with his quill and muttering under his breath.

"Idiots, the lot of them,"

Hermione rolled her eyes at his disdain towards his students and grabbed the broom from the corner. She made quick work of the floor, vanishing the pile of dust, dirt, and debris before heading to the storeroom.

48 ounces of lacewing flies. _Check_.

2 liters of leech juice. _Check_.

57 frog eyeballs. _Ugh_.

She grasped the massive jar of frog eyes and gingerly placed it on a preparation table, seating herself before it. She rolled up her sleeve and reached into the jar, gasping in shock as the icy water surrounded her hand and wrist. She pulled up a fistful of them and began to count.

 _1, 2, 3…_

Her exhaustion overwhelmed her and her head tilted forward, landing on the table with a soft _bang_. Her hand gently unrolled, scattering frog eyes all over the table. Some rolled off the table, plopping on the floor.

"MISS GRANGER!" Snape bellowed, jolting her awake. Had she actually fallen asleep? Were there really frog eyes scattered all over the closet? She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, but she felt more refreshed than she had since the term began. His eyes glittered with fury, his nostrils flaring rapidly. She spotted a vein pulsing in his forehead and closed her eyes, sighing deeply.

"I'm so sorry, professor," she began. He cut her off.

"Spare me your insincere apologies and just clean the mess."

"You might at least listen!" She exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest. She ignored the drip of frog juice across the front of her t-shirt.

"I have neither the time nor the interest to listen to your bumbling excuses as to why you found it appropriate to nap in my storeroom. In most jobs, you'd be fired for such a lapse of judgment. You may find your duties odious, but you have an obligation to take this position seriously. Remember you can always be replaced," he hissed, crossing his own arms over his chest. She observed that the bandages around his neck had vanished.

"Then why didn't you request someone else? You can't have wanted me to be your assistant. You've made it abundantly clear you detest me."

He visibly gritted his teeth, "You have already been informed as to why you were chosen to be my assistant. It is not up to you to question it. Just do your duties and stay out of my way."

She threw up her arms in exasperation and sighed loudly. His eyes widened and he grasped her wrist. Her wrist burned white hot and he dropped it as his own hand burned. Both clutched their pained appendages.

"Why did you grab me?" She cried, clutching her wrist to her chest. The heat had faded rapidly, leaving behind a pleasantly warm sensation.

"Your hand is clearly bleeding. It needs to be bandaged. There's no telling what substances could have infected your bloodstream while you carelessly napped in here. I deal with highly dangerous ingredients in here. It's not safe to have an open wound!" His voice was surprisingly calm. Hermione was taken aback. Was Snape actually trying to help her?

"Come out to the classroom and I'll wrap it for you." She stared after him in amazement, still clutching the injured wrist.

"Today, if you please," he called out from the adjoining room. She narrowed her eyes and strode after him.

Again he grasped her wrist, but after their first contact, his touch did not seem to set her skin on fire; instead, it left her with warm, tingling sensation. Rather like she had bathed in Firewhisky. He held it under the jet of icy water that spurted from a gargoyle's mouth. Once rinsed, he patted it dry with a green linen cloth and led her to sit at a table with him. Snape gently laid her injured hand on the pockmarked table. He stood to rummage through his desk and returned with a bottle and a roll of bandages. He removed the stopper from a bottle of rose-colored serum.

"This will burn," he said quietly. The drops hissed onto her wound and she inhaled sharply between her teeth. He met her eyes and she realized they were emptied of his previous anger.

The burn in her wound ceased quickly. He deftly wrapped with the bandages, tearing it with his teeth to tie a neat knot. He paused with his long, pale hands around her much smaller one. Both stared at his fingers, which were gently stroking the bandages.

"Miss Granger…" he said softly. Again he raised his eyes to her and she saw that they were soft and emotional.

"I-" as he began to speak, he was cut off by a sharp knock at the door.

"Come," he called, removing his hands from her person. A strange sense of loss engulfed her. Professor McGonagall entered the room, her eyes widening as she saw the Potions professor and his assistant sitting together in such close proximity.

"Severus?" She asked tentatively, her eyes darting from one to the other rapidly.

"As I was saying," he said, giving a significant glance to McGonagall who looked properly chastened, "monitor your wound carefully for any changes in skin color or texture. If anything appears amiss, go directly to Madame Pomfrey." His tone was brusque as usual and she understood she was dismissed. McGonagall's eyes dropped to Hermione's injured hand. Was that relief spreading across her features?

"Thank you for your assistance. Good afternoon, Professor." She said to McGonagall as she exited the door.

"Miss Granger!" The headmistress called after her. Hermione jerked her head back around the door frame, "please come see me after dinner this evening. The password is 'butterbeer'"

Hermione nodded and left. She ran up the stairs quickly, taking them two at a time. Ginny nearly ran into her.

"Hermione, it's nearly time for dinner! Have you been with Snape this entire time?" She inquired, her brows knitting together.

Hermione pressed a hand to her forehead, "I suppose so. The time went by quickly," she said in a dazed voice.

"What happened to your hand?"

"I cut it on accident. It's nothing, really."

Ginny seemed unconvinced, but said nothing. They walked into the Great Hall together without speaking and sat side by side. After a moment, dinner began to appear. Glistening pink hams studded with cloves dotted the tables. Each was flanked by deep bowls of roasted potatoes and piles of Brussels Sprouts. Here and there platters of rainbow carrots, drizzled with olive oil, were interspersed with fluffy white yeast rolls.

Her stomach gave a lurch as she realized how hungry she was. With little ceremony she began to pile her plate high with the delicious food.

"So, Snape still being a complete ass?" asked Ginny conversationally.

"Well… not really, I suppose. Although he has every right to be. I fell asleep in the storeroom."

Ginny's eyes widened, "You didn't!"

Hermione nodded, her mouth full of buttered bread. She swallowed hard, "I did. Counting frog eyes. I hardly slept at all last night. When I awoke, I had this," she raised her arm, "I must have sliced it in my sleep."

Her friend shook her head, her flame-colored hair swaying gently across her back, "I'm surprised he didn't sack you."

"Me too. He was surprisingly gentle about my wrist though. Washed and bandaged it himself."

Ginny looked askance at Hermione, "that doesn't sound like him at all. Sure he didn't injure you and then feel bad about it?"

"Nah, not his way. Perhaps he's reformed a bit since the war."

Ginny shrugged and turned her attention back to her food. The rest of the meal was spent in idle conversation, the primary topic being the hatefulness of the new professor. It appeared she was universally detested.

An owl soared into the Hall, dropping a letter in Hermione's sprouts.

"Is that from Harry?" Dean asked curiously. Hermione nodded, skimming the contents.

"We're meeting at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow. He says he and Ron have a lot to tell me."

Everyone at the table looked intrigued and she knew she'd be fielding hordes of questions the following evening.

After dinner, Hermione ventured to McGonagall's office.

"Butterbeer," she said to the statue. She climbed the stairs now revealed by its absence and found herself in Dumbledore's office. It still seemed strange to be there without the old man sitting behind the desk, his blue eyes twinkling wildly.

McGonagall gestured at the seat in front of her.

"Biscuit?" She held out an open tin. Hermione took one, even though she had indulged in a massive wedge of pie not even twenty minutes prior.

"How's your first week back?" McGonagall's gaze was piercing and Hermione suspected she had ulterior motives to the question.

"It's been…fine." She replied cautiously, taking a nibble of the biscuit.

"I hear you lost several points in your first Defense Against the Dark Arts class," she said sternly.

"Yes, I was arguing with Malfoy and she docked me." She retorted.

McGonagall could see the irritation simmering below the surface and dropped the subject.

"And Professor Snape?" She lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

"He's… his usual self. I'm still not entirely sure why you didn't pick someone from Slytherin. I would think he'd be more amenable to a student from his own house assisting him."

McGonagall paused, her face contorting strangely. She leaned forward slightly.

"He wanted it kept secret, but actually, he requested that you be his assistant."

"Me?" Hermione gaped. McGonagall settled back in her chair.

"Yes. He was resistant to the idea of having one at all, you understand, but when we told him that we'd pick one if he didn't, he begrudgingly cast your name as his first choice. He said you were the best Potions student in the school—which is the truth—and that you were the only one he thought could handle the intricacies of the position."

Hermione was silent. If he had chosen her, why had he been so rude the first day? The headmistress peered at her over her spectacles.

"I can see you're very confused. Perhaps retiring early would be beneficial."

She nodded, stupefied, and rose to stand in front of the desk.

"Thank you for letting me know, professor."

McGonagall nodded, "and not a word to Professor Snape, you understand. He'd be furious if he knew his secret was out."

Hermione nodded again, still confused and went back to her room. Once there, she drew the heavy velvet curtains around her bed, leaving a single candle to burn above the headboard. More than ever, she wished Harry and Ron were there to talk to. Ginny was lovely and a good friend, but their bond couldn't even begin to approach her relationship with the other two.

For the first time since the term began, she felt completely alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to everyone who's followed, faved, or reviewed! It really brightens my day to see so many people enjoying my story. Disclaimer: if you recognize the character, it's not mine. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Saturday gleamed sunny and bright as Hermione made the trek from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. Around her, leaves cascaded gently, crunching delightfully under her boots. As she walked she contemplated her bizarre first week—from the multiple run ins with Snape (including his incredibly strange behavior from the day prior) to the mysterious new DADA professor, it had hardly been as dull as she had thought it would be.

Nevertheless, she still had misgivings about her decision to return and worried that seeing Harry and Ron's excitement over their new jobs would only compound her fears. As she approached the village, she could see smoke rising from the chimneys and quickened her pace. Ahead, she saw two tall, gangly figures waiting awkwardly in front of The Three Broomsticks. Instinctively she knew it was her best friends and broke into a slow run.

"Ron! Harry!" She exclaimed loudly. They turned and, seeing her, began to run towards her. The three met in a group hug, the two men bodily lifting Hermione in their excitement.

As they released her, Ron placed a big smacking kiss on her cheek. Inwardly she recoiled from the saliva left on her face but plastered on a smile and linked arms with her oldest friends.

"I want to hear all about your training at the Ministry!" She proclaimed as they sat down. Harry shrugged.

"Not a whole lot to tell, really. They've split us into teams, which are each led by a senior Auror. Ron and I are on the same team. Each team focuses on a particular aspect—detecting Dark Magic, changing your physical appearance, and so on. Right now we're working on our spell work, so it's a bit like being back at the D.A. honestly."

Ron grinned, "Except that Harry's back to being a student. Still the best though."

He took a big slurp of butterbeer and smacked his lips.

"Heard Malfoy went back to Hogwarts. Everyone hate him?" He asked, a big smear of foam across his upper lip. Hermione motioned at him to wipe it off before replying.

"Not really. I think those of us who left are really just trying to get through the year without much fuss. Looks like he has a girlfriend though."

Harry and Ron exchanged significant looks. She looked at them inquisitively.

"Astoria, yeah?" Harry asked quietly. Hermione nodded.

"There's uh…a bit of a story behind that." She leaned forward in interest.

"Apparently," said Ron, "when Lucius Malfoy went to Azkaban, the Ministry seized a lot of his wealth in reparation for the damage he'd caused as a Death Eater. The Malfoys are practically broke. They have the estate and the name, but not much besides."

Hermione sat back in her seat. That explained why he'd looked so taken aback when she made the comment about his father not being able to buy him a position at the Ministry.

"So what does Astoria have to do with all that?"

Harry answered, "Astoria, like Malfoy, is an only child. Unlike the Malfoys though, the Greengrass family stayed put on their estate in Scotland and didn't take sides during either war. As a result, they managed to stay out of the drama and retain their wealth. She's an heiress and the Malfoys' only hope to restore the family fortune. In exchange for the inheritance, Astoria gets the Malfoy name. After all she's not a Pureblood like he is."

Hermione paused, letting the information sink in as she sipped her butterbeer.

"I didn't think even wizards did the arranged marriage thing anymore."

Ron shook his head, "We don't usually. It's more common among Purebloods than…mixed people, but it still doesn't happen that often. The last one I can think of was Bellatrix and Lestrange. Voldemort arranged that one though, obviously. She wouldn't have willingly married anyone other than her master."

"Is the Malfoys' situation common knowledge in the Ministry?" Hermione asked. If it were, she wondered, why hadn't it spread throughout Hogwarts?

"No, it isn't," Harry replied, "we heard from a fellow Auror-in-training."

She raised an eyebrow, "Anyone I know?"

"No," Ron said. He was smiling strangely, "her name is Hyacinth McGill. She was homeschooled, but her family fled abroad before Voldemort could force her to come to Hogwarts. They've been traveling for the last year or two. Sounds dismal."

Hermione was suspicious of Ron's smile—it looked almost wistful. She took a long sip of her butterbeer and said nothing. Perhaps he was interested in a fellow Auror student. And why wouldn't he be? They'd probably have more in common than he and Hermione did. Besides, it would be difficult to maintain a relationship with him living in London and her all the way at Hogwarts. Still, it could be nothing and she could be fretting needlessly. If Ron wanted to end the relationship to be with this…Hyacinth woman, then she'd let him. Until then she'd dismiss any suspicions.

"Enough about us, though," Harry said suddenly, "what's all this about you being Snape's assistant? Seems like an awful way for the administration to repay you after last year."

Hermione shrugged, "They actually are repaying me, I think. I'm getting paid and everything. And Snape isn't as foul as we thought he was, as it turns out. He can actually be rather nice."

Harry and Ron grimaced simultaneously.

"Well…"Harry said haltingly, "I guess those memories of his I saw last year made him look like less of a git, but still. He was such an ass to us for six years. I can't imagine him suddenly changing."

She paused thoughtfully, "I don't know if I'd say he's changed. We have to remember that a lot of what we saw as students was his… spy mask. We don't know how much of it was an act."

Ron raised an eyebrow, "I don't know, he really seemed to hate Harry. And remember third year? He was Neville's biggest fear. And what about his comment about your appearance? You had Pomfrey shrink your teeth after that."

"What can I say? He's a good actor. There's more to him than meets the eye."

Harry and Ron looked at each other in disbelief.

"The really foul one is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," she said, switching the subject, "She docked points from Gryffindor in our first class. She's a real bitch."

"Romanian, isn't she?" Ron said thoughtfully, "I'll see if Charlie can dig anything up on her."

"That would be great," she said, draining her mug.

Finished with their drinks, the three meandered around Hogsmeade. Ron had an arm possessively around his girlfriend, who ignored it. She couldn't stand public displays of affection. At least, she thought wryly, he wasn't attempting a repeat of his behavior with Lavender.

The sun began to set over the hills as the trio sat on the rocks overlooking the Shrieking Shack.

"We'd better be getting back to London," Harry said hesitantly. Hermione nodded.

"I should be getting back to Hogwarts too, I suppose." The three hugged (Ron grasped Hermione and dipped her with a flourish, placing an extraordinarily wet kiss on her lips. Harry studiously looked the other way, expressing profound interest in a rock formation down the lane) and with a loud crack, the two men apparated back to London.

Hermione, unable to apparate into Hogwarts, began the long walk back to school. Alone with her thoughts, intrusive images of Ron with a series of other girls popped into her head. What did this Hyacinth look like? Was she pale like Lavender? Olive skinned like Hermione? A red head like the rest of the Weasley family?

"Hermione!" She looked up, hearing a familiar voice.

"Hagrid!" She exclaimed. She darted forward to give the half giant an embrace.

"I was wondering if you were ever going to come to the cottage to see me," he teased, his eyes twinkling.

She beamed up at him, "Is that an invitation?"

"Sure. I've a fresh batch of rock cakes cooling on the windowsill. If Fang hasn't eaten them all," he added darkly. She forced a smile as they began to walk back to his cottage.

"Sounds great."

"So, Snape's assistant, eh? How's that working out for you?" He looked down at her seriously.

"Well… I fell asleep in the storeroom yesterday," she began. His eyes shot up and he laughed, a great booming noise that reverberated around them.

"You're the only know I know of with enough nerve to go and nap in Snape's storeroom," he chuckled.

"Well, he was furious. Calmed down pretty quickly when he saw I had cut myself by accident. Bandaged it up for me and everything."

"Didn't send you to Madame Pomfrey?" Hagrid shook his head, "Always liked to do things himself, Snape did. I remember once, when he was a lad, he broke his arm falling off a broom and tried to repair it himself. Nearly worked too, except he accidentally gave himself another one. Looked mighty strange, two arms protruding from that bony elbow of his. Pomfrey and Slughorn both gave him quite the scolding."

Both chuckled. Hermione could imagine young Snape, lank hair falling into his face as he jabbed at his limp arm. It was certainly an amusing image.

They arrived at the cottage, where Fang eagerly greeted Hermione with a sloppy kiss. She laughed and rewarded him with a scratch behind the ears, "I've missed that face!" She cooed. Hagrid smiled as he looked on.

"Yeah, he certainly missed the three of you last year. Whined incessantly for the first month when no one but Ginny and Luna came to tea." His face dropped as he set the kettle over the fire, "It was a hard year for all of us though, I guess."

Hermione felt touched and a bit guilty. She and Harry and Ron had hardly spared a thought for their old friend while they were on the run.

"We missed you too, Hagrid," she said, trying to be convincing, "If we could have contacted you safely, you know we would've."

He smiled at her, pouring the hot tea into mugs, "Yeah, I know. I don't begrudge it. The three of you had a mission and I couldn't interfere with that."

She smiled back, gratefully accepting the cup.

"Have you been in contact with Madame Maxime?" It was clearly the moment Hagrid had been waiting for. He launched into an extraordinarily long tale of his summer, in which the two of them had gallivanted about Africa, looking for giants.

"And did you find many more?" She asked eagerly. He shook his head.

"Not many. African giants are really no different from the European ones. Lotta fighting amongst themselves. Lotta deaths. May be the end of all of us in a generation or two. Might be some more in the Americas. Or Asia. Or Australia." He sighed loudly and added a hearty measure of rum to his tea.

"Oh, Hagrid, it can't be as bad as all that. I'm sure things can be fixed, with a little effort." He shrugged before catching sight of the sky outside.

"Heavens, it must be dinner time. I'll walk you up to the Great Hall. Don't want you missing your meal. Oh and here," he grabbed one of the forgotten rock cakes from the window (below which Fang was sitting, eagerly anticipating their departure) and stuffed into a reasonably clean handkerchief, "take this with you. Wouldn't want people to think I'm a bad host." She smiled graciously and accepted the bundle.

Together the two walked up to Hogwarts, where they took their respective seats for the meal, which was already underway. Hermione took the rock cake and, making sure Hagrid was deep in conversation with Flitwick beside him, jabbed at it, attempting to soften the thing. Eventually she was successful and she discovered, with some surprise, that it didn't taste terrible when it was no longer the consistency of a marble.

Later that evening she slipped out of Gryffindor Tower to the Room of Requirement. Concentrating intently, she waited until the door appeared. Opening it, she found a deep bath, already filled with steaming water and gloriously pink scented bubbles.

 _Just what the doctor ordered_.

Sinking into the bath, she reviewed her day. Did she really have anything to worry about with Ron? Upon further reflection, she discovered that it didn't matter that much to her. As long as they could remain friends, she would be perfectly fine with their romantic relationship ending. Her thoughts turned suddenly to Hagrid's story of young Snape, attempting to repair his own broken arm. The thought made her smile. Was that why he hadn't sent her immediately to Pomfrey? And still, she mused, what did he mean by stroking her hand so gently?


	6. Chapter 6

Hearing voices in the Potions classroom, Hermione stood just outside the door. She didn't mean to listen—or at least, that's what she told herself sternly—but she couldn't help but overhear Professor Dracula and Professor Snape arguing quietly.

"You have no business being here!" He hissed softly. She heard a loud sigh. Dracula?

"And you no longer have the right to tell me what to do. As I recall, you forfeited any say in my life years ago."

Had Snape and Dracula been lovers? They were certainly well suited. Both mysterious, attractive, avoided bright light, and—she thought with a wry smile—were particularly hateful to their students.

After a long pause, Snape responded, "You'd better not be up to your old tricks. The administration won't stand for like Durmstrang's did."

There was a soothing shushing sound, "It will all be fine. You'll see, Severus."

She heard a strange sound—were they kissing? It certainly sounded like a soft kiss. Perhaps on the cheek?

Hearing footsteps, she darted behind the nearest corner and hid. Dracula's heels made a tidy click-clack on the stone floors, the sound growing dimmer as she walked away. With the faintest sigh of relief, Hermione exited her hiding place and went into the Potions classroom. Snape hardly spared her a glance.

"I'll be brewing a special potion tonight and I'd like you to prepare the ingredients. The recipe is on page 465 in _Potiones Moste Foule_."

Hermione nodded silently and went to the storeroom and searched the shelves for the appropriate book. She spent the subsequent hour and a half chopping, smashing, distilling, and measuring the twenty-eight ingredients. She was too concerned with making sure everything was perfect to dwell excessively on what she had overheard. When everything had been prepared and neatly organized on the old table, she went to Snape.

"Professor? I've finished preparing your ingredients. Do you need anything else at the moment?"

He looked up, giving her another enigmatic gaze. What was the meaning of those looks? And why did they make her blush so hotly?

"No, that will be all. You are dismissed."

She left the room as quickly as she could and started up the stairs to the hospital wing. She suspected something strange must have happened when she had pressed her hands to Snape's neck back in May. Had that affected him somehow? Why had they both felt as though they had been scalded when he touched her bare skin for the first time? She knew Madame Pomfrey couldn't illuminate her on his and Ardentia's relationship—no one but those two could, really—but anything that would clear up some of the confusion in Hermione's head was more than welcome.

She knocked on the door, "Madame Pomfrey? Are you busy?"

The nurse smiled, "Always, dear, but I have enough time to talk," She blushed faintly, "Ever since I heard you were dating young Weasley, I've been expecting a visit from you. The magical community approaches sexuality differently than Muggles do. The contraceptive aspect alone! Those pills of theirs can be dangerous for a witch and those condom things!" She let out a short, barking laugh, "Wizard seed merely laughs at them. They're completely ineffective. Just ask Arthur Weas-"

Catching sight of Hermione's shocked face, she stopped suddenly.

"Was that…not what you wanted to discuss?"

"Um…not really, no, but thank you for the advice. What I really wanted was to talk about Professor Snape."

"Ah," she paused, the smile leaving her face, "Remember there's only so much I can say. He was a patient of mine, after all."

"Yes, of course. Erm…did he…tell you everything that happened during the battle in May?"

Pomfrey nodded slowly, "I believe so, yes. He was attacked by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named's pet snake and nearly died. He said you saved his life by pressing your hands to his wounds. He believed there was some sort of magic involved, but couldn't elaborate. I have, however," she brightened and bustled over to her bookshelf, "been doing a bit of research. Would you help me a bit?"

"Of course! What do you need?" Hermione perched on the edge of a tidily made bed next to Pomfrey's usual chair.

"Just the answers to a few questions," her business-like air was back as she sat in the hard-back chair, "First, what exactly did you do when he was injured?"

"Well," she said carefully, "I wanted to staunch the bleeding, so I pressed my hands to his wounds. It was very strange—my hands felt all hot and they started glowing."

"Any particular color?"

"Yes, a white-silver color. The color of a unicorn, I guess."

Pomfrey smiled faintly at her notes, "and did you say any sort of incantations or spells?"

Hermione shook her head, "No, nothing. I couldn't think of any spells that seemed applicable. I just focused really intently and willed the wounds to close, I suppose."

"Hmm," Pomfrey made another note on the paper and turned to the book beneath her notepad, "I think I have an idea of what may have happened."

The student leaned forward, "Which is?"

"In ancient marriage rituals, the bride and groom would give each other a nearly-mortal wound, usually with a ceremonial knife. They would then heal each other with their hands, pouring a bit of themselves into the other in the process. The result was an intense bond, in which they became…almost two halves of the same person. They could share thoughts and ideas and could sense each others moods. Across a crowded room, the other person's words would ring clear as a bell. Tell me, do you read much Muggle literature?"

Hermione blinked at the sudden change in subject, "A fair bit, yes."

"Have you read _Lolita_ by Nabokov?" Pomfrey peered at her curiously.

"Yes, I have. Why?"

"A passage from the book stands out to me as being able to accurately describe the situation. When looking for clothes for his step-daughter, the main character thinks to himself that, like a pregnant woman is always 'with child,' he is always 'with Lolita.'. I believe that is what the Potions professor is experiencing."

Hermione sat back as her breath grew short, "And…if one person—say, myself- was thinking, their thoughts would be…almost audible to the other person?"

Pomfrey nodded, "Have you experienced something like that with Professor Snape?"

"Yes, we have, but it doesn't seem to be mutual. I don't feel any more in tune with him than I do with any of my other professors."

"Well, the healing process was one-sided. You would have had to be injured and him heal you for the bind to be complete."

"And if it wasn't?"

Pomfrey shook her head, "I haven't a clue. There's nothing about it in this book, and this is the only one that seemed relevant."

"Last week I injured myself in the Potions dungeon," she held up her hand to demonstrate, "and when Professor Snape held my hand to clean and bandage it, it felt as though we had both been scalded with boiling water. Do you think it has something to do with the binding being incomplete?"

"Yes, I would think so," the nurse paused thoughtfully, "This must be all very troubling to Severus—to be always hyper-aware of you—of your presence, your thoughts, your emotions. Through no fault of his or yours, you prey on his mind incessantly. He must find it very bothersome."

"Yes," Hermione said softly, "I think he would. Is there nothing we can do about it?"

"No, I wouldn't think you could," she opened the book to a bookmarked page and scanned the bottom-half, "there are a few examples of attempted divorces. Infidelity and so on. When one person attempted to bond with another—having already bonded previously with their spouse—it resulted in death for all three. The only way to break the bond is…through death." She peered over her glasses at Hermione sympathetically.

"Do you mean that…I've permanently bonded with Professor Snape and there's nothing either of us can do about it?"

"That's exactly what I mean. Fortunately for you, this particular ritual is no longer a part of Magical wedding ceremonies. So, if you wish, you're free to marry whomever you like."

"And Snape?"

" _Professor_ Snape, if you will, please, Miss Granger. I'm not sure what the effect would be on him. I'm sure it would be difficult for him to marry someone else when part of your…spirit, I suppose you could call it, dwells within him."

"Is it…like a horcrux?" She asked tentatively.

"No, no, not at all. Your soul is, as far as I know, still intact. It's very difficult to explain, but you've poured a part of yourself—not your soul, but some measure of spirit, or essence, if you will—into him."

Hermione stood to leave, "This is all very confusing to me, Madame Pomfrey, but I'm so grateful for all the research you did for us. Will you be telling Professor Snape what happened?"

"I'm not sure," The nurse stood as well, setting her book and notepad on the bed Hermione had recently vacated, "I think he should know about it, but it seems like the kind of thing that would be best coming from you. Would you like to borrow the book and do more research on it?" She held out the book out and Hermione quickly grabbed it.

"Thank you again, Madame Pomfrey. I can't thank you enough for all you've done for both of us. Oh, and about the book—I didn't know witches and wizards read Muggle literature."

Pomfrey chuckled, "You're not the only Muggle-born in this room, Miss Granger. I could hardly leave the books I loved behind when I came to Hogwarts. And since the wizarding world is so short on good fiction, I just never lost the habit of reading Muggle books."

She smiled fondly at the younger woman, who left rapidly, her thoughts swarming like bees in her head.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: If you recognize the character, it isn't mine. Thanks for reading!

Hermione's talk with Madame Pomfrey left her head swimming with confusion. She had accidentally bonded with _Snape_? He could hear her thoughts without resorting to Legilimency? She felt invaded, as though her most personal thoughts, her deepest inner self was now exposed for him to observe and study at his leisure.

At times like these, had but one course of action—a bath. While at school with Harry and Ron she had often pretended to hide in the library while actually luxuriating in the prefect's bath. Oh Ron could have found her if he'd wanted to—but he'd rarely used the private bathroom, preferring instead to use the one in Gryffindor Tower. Despite the luxury of the facilities, few of the prefects ever used it. It was too far from any of their common rooms to be convenient and besides, who wanted to stroll through the castle corridors with their shower caddies and freshly washed hair? Generally, she made use of the Room of Requirement for baths. It was the only place where she could be assured total privacy from both humans and ghosts. Today, however, she was uninterested in walking by the blank space of wall, willing it to create exactly what she wanted.

She walked as quickly as she could to the private bathroom. As most—if not all—of the school was at dinner, her walk was as solitary as she had hoped. She gave the password ("banana gravy," of all the repulsive things) and stepped through the portrait hole. Before her stretched the bath, as massive as a swimming pool. Smaller pools dotted the outer rim, each one with a different purpose. One had jets for soothing sore muscles after a rough Quidditch game; another had icy water for summer plunges or those with uncontrollable urges. Her eye was set on the main tub, however.

Hermione quickly undressed and threw her clothes in a pile on a decorative rock intended, she hoped, for that purpose. She turned on most of the taps, which gushed like fragrant waterfalls into the massive compartment. The tub filled quickly and she turned them off with haste, lest it overflow. There was a diving board at the far end, the ladder of which she ascended quickly. She bounced gently on the end, testing its flexibility, before springing up and leaping into the water. It surrounded her like a warm cocoon, the heady fragrance and thick bubbles cushioning her return to the cool air. She heard a cackle.

"Myrtle," she said, treading water.

"Oooh, it's you. The potion brewer!" Myrtle exclaimed, doing a somersault in the air.

Hermione swam to the edge, which was rimmed by a marble seating area which allowed the bather to rest, but still remain immersed in the warm soapy water.

"I haven't seen you in ages. Anything new in the ghost world?"

Myrtle glowered, "is there ever?"

Hermione chuckled and smoothed her hair back with her hands, "No, I suppose not. Still, things might have changed without my realizing it."

The ghost came to perch beside her, "You look different though. Tired, but a little radiant. Been indulging in a little…wandplay?" She waggled her eyebrows impishly. Hermione blushed.

"Nothing like that. Things have changed though…" She paused, watching as her fingers twirled the bubbles in circles and figure eights.

"Got a secret? I'm really good at keeping things hidden. I was Draco's confidante his whole sixth year. Of course Harry told you that." Hermione looked inquisitively at Myrtle, who giggled, "I was eavesdropping. I do that a lot, you know."

Hermione shrugged, "I figured you ghosts kept up with all the mortal drama here. Still though, I'm not sure I should tell you. It's all very difficult to understand."

"Don't think I can understand it? Just because I'm a ghost?" Myrtle seemed annoyed and began to fly angrily around the room, "Ooh, look at stupid Myrtle, just flying about! She doesn't _understand_ what it's like to be human anymore!"

"Myrtle, calm down!" Hermione called. The spirit paused, floating directly above her with her arms crossed, "if you're interested, I'll tell you. It's all so complicated I hardly understand it myself. I really don't think you're stupid."

Appeased, Myrtle returned to her perch at Hermione's side, "Well then?" She said expectantly.

"Do you remember the battle a few months ago?" Myrtle nodded.

"Well…I saved Professor Snape's life—I have no idea how, really—but it seems that in doing so, I've somehow… bonded with him. He can hear my thoughts and feel what I'm feeling. It's as though a little part of me is living inside him." Myrtle nodded again thoughtfully.

"Sounds like you've found yourself a boyfriend." She said sagely.

"A boyfriend? Myrtle, he's a professor!" Hermione was horrified.

"But he's a man first! And what a man…" She drifted off dreamily, "I remember when he was a student here. He was quite handsome. A little sallow and greasy even then, but only because he was indoors all the time. With a bit of sun, his skin darkened marvelously. He had those swarthy good looks all the girls swoon for. Reminded me a bit of a young Tom Riddle…"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Snape, a handsome teenager?

"I asked him out, you know."

"Who, Snape?"

"No!" Myrtle giggled, "Why would I ask a mortal on a date? Where would we go, the lavatory? No, I asked out Riddle. When I was still alive. He was such a handsome boy. And then he killed me with that hideous snake of his. Quite rude. He could have just said no." She ended her tale with an indignant pout, her pale eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

"I got around a bit when I was still alive. I was particularly good at fellatio…" Myrtle trailed off again and Hermione gazed at her in shock, her mouth agape. The ghost giggled.

"There was this one, MacNair…"

"MacNair? You know he's an executioner now?"

"Ooh," she snickered again, "he always had a big weapon…"

"Myrtle, I'm not sure this is appropriate conversation…" Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Was Myrtle hinting at what she thought?

"Well!" The ghost exclaimed, "Excuse me for trying to help you out! It wouldn't hurt you to live a little, you know. It might be your last chance to fuck a professor."

"I could never! I have class with him twice a week!"

"You could do it on a stack of ungraded parchments," Myrtle continued as if Hermione hadn't spoken, "or on one of those rickety tables. It would be quite exhilarating. Maybe even before class or after hours. You could see his personal dungeon. It's actually rather nice. Silk sheets and everything. It's all very Slytherin, you know."

"Do you spy on him?" Hermione demanded indignantly. Myrtle huffed.

"Of course I do! I spy on everyone. What else is there to do here?"

Hermione nodded her assent with Myrtle's statement.

"Is that what you would do in my situation? Start a torrid affair with Snape?" Hermione asked wryly. Myrtle winked at her, "I'd ride him like a show pony if I were you. I've always found him very sensual. That nose, the way he always drapes himself in black, and—oh!—those hands! I've always loved watching him work."

Hermione paused thoughtfully. His perfectionist tendencies did tend to make him fascinating to watch. Still, she wasn't sure about the possibility of…sleeping with him. Besides, she could tell he wasn't interested in her by his behavior. Despite his tenderly bandaging her hand awhile back, he was still a terrifying force to behold.

"Professor Snape wouldn't want me, even if I wanted him," Hermione said firmly. Myrtle shook her head, "don't be so sure about that. I watched him when he was younger. Chasing after that Lily Evans—dated her for a couple weeks, I think—and Bellatrix Lestrange—"

"Bellatrix? _Really_?" Hermione slunk down in her seat, letting her chin rest on the firm bubbles.

"Mhm," Evidently Myrtle had tired of sitting still and was occupying herself by dangling upside down near the chandelier, "they were a striking couple. She was a few years older and went off to join He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Then she married that Lestrange fellow—who was more interested in Lucius Malfoy than his wife, but that's beside the point—and Snape cut her off. He didn't date after that. No one was good enough, I don't think."

"I thought he was an outcast? Harry saw some of his memories, and..." Hermione said hesitantly. Myrtle waved a hand, "Oh posh. He had friends in Slytherin. I wouldn't say he was particularly popular, but they certainly didn't hate him. He was the smart one of the group—rather like you, Hermione."

The student paused and mulled over Myrtle's information. It certainly made the professor seem more human, but she still didn't think she was interested in any kind of romantic or physical relationship with him.

"Tell you what," Myrtle eyed her intently and descended from her post at the chandelier to float in front of Hermione, "we'll see if he notices you. Put something on your bosom and something on your backside. Nothing too flashy or weird, you don't want to make it obvious. But if he points it out—and you know he will if he sees it—then you'll know he's looking at your bits and that he's… _interested_."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then he's not interested in you and you'll have to find someone else to shag while you're here. I hear Flitwick is still single!" She cackled and flew off, diving into a toilet with a flourish. The water splashed to the top of the stall door before descending with a crash, flooding the floor with icy toilet water.

Hermione sunk deep into the water, which had cooled substantially during her conversation with Myrtle. Did she want to see if Snape was interested in her?

Was she interested in _him_?


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: If people or places seem familiar, it's because you've read or seen it all before in a book or film. All credit goes to Rowling. Thank you bunches to everyone who has taken the time to comment, fave, or follow the story. Your support makes it all worth it!

Hermione mulled on Myrtle's comments for nearly a month. Did she want to try to attract Snape? Would it be disloyal to Ron? ( _Definitely_ , she told herself sternly) And how much did she _really_ care about her relationship with the red-head? She shook her head at her thoughts with an amused smile as she entered Binn's classroom. Once inside, however, she found herself daydreaming even further as the ghost professor launched into a mysteriously dull lecture on Dumbledore's battle with Grindelwald. It must be a special talent, she thought to herself, to make something incredibly fascinating so…dull. A wad of paper pinged off her back, startling her out of her reverie.

She looked behind her and saw Malfoy gesture to the paper on the floor. A sly smile graced his aristocratic features as she warily picked it up. She unfolded it. It was one of those animated drawings he loved to create so much—a freckled man consorting with an equally tall woman. The man leaned over and kissed his partner on the cheek. Peeking out from a bush behind them was a bushy haired girl, tears flying off her face cartoonishly.

Clearly she was the bushy haired girl—she'd recognize that mop anywhere, even in caricature form—and the freckled man could only be Ron. But the tall girl? Her heart sank—this must be the Hyacinth from Harry and Ron's stories. She crumpled the paper up and—making sure Binns was not paying attention to his students—jabbed at it with her wand, causing it to catch fire without singeing the items around it. She turned back around to Draco, "At least Arthur Weasley didn't have to broker a marriage for his loser son to restore the family fortunes!" She hissed.

Draco's face fell and his face turned scarlet, "You'll regret that, Mudblood!" he snarled. Hermione ignored him and turned back to her notes, attempting to to focus on the professor's lecture. It must, she thought to herself, be common knowledge that Ron was interested in his co-worker. What began as a mild annoyance blossomed rapidly into rage. How dare he treat her like that? It was humiliating to her to be away at school while he gallivanted around London with his new girlfriend—and without breaking up with Hermione first!

The class ended and she stormed out, nearly knocking Seamus over in her rush to escape the classroom. She was fortunate to have a free period between history and lunch, so she rapidly made the ascent up the staircase to Gryffindor Tower. Upon her arrival, she found a note on her bed. She paused, noticing a familiar handwriting on the outside of the paper.

Snape.

 _Miss Granger_ , her eyes scanned the missive as she sank into the soft mattress, _I will be expecting you this afternoon at three. Wear clothes you don't mind getting wet or dirty._

 _-S_

Wet? Dirty? What could he be expecting her to do this time? She was almost afraid to go down to the dungeon.

Nevertheless, she drew a fresh sheet of parchment from her bag and, resting it on a textbook, chewed on her quill thoughtfully before beginning to write.

 _Ronald_ , she started, _I've been hearing troubling accounts of your activities at the Ministry regarding a certain new friend_. Accounts, plural? Only the one from Malfoy, really. And was he just trying to be spiteful? It seemed possible, but she had to be sure. _Do I have cause to be concerned? Whatever your answer, I'd like to meet at the Three Broomsticks this weekend. Alone, please. I see no need to involve Harry in our relationship in such a way._ But how to sign it? She chewed more intently on the feather, _Best, Hermione_.

Looking over the letter, she forced herself to be satisfied with the polite, but cool, tone of the piece of correspondence. She folded it on itself and addressed it Ron, who was still staying with Harry at Grimmauld Place. She checked the time on her battered old watch. She still had nearly an hour before lunch, which would give her plenty of time to go to the Owlery and return before anyone noticed her absence.

As she walked, she contemplated her course of action. She was nearly positive that their meeting over the weekend would result in the end of their relationship. Still, she was determined that it end on a positive foot, even if just to preserve their relationship with Harry. She handed her letter to a tawny owl, who gave a small hoot before taking it in his beak and soaring off over the mountains. As she watched, the dot dwindled before disappearing into the distance.

Wearing her oldest pair of jeans and a long-sleeved Gryffindor shirt, Hermione paused outside the dungeon door. She looked down at her clothes and noticed, with no small pang of horror that there was a rather large hole just below her left breast.

 _Shit_.

Well, she thought wryly, she was finally—and inadvertently—taking Myrtle's advice for getting Snape's attention. Through the hole she could see the soft fabric of her favorite fuschia bra. Could she fix it with magic? Suddenly she wished she had paid more attention when Molly was showing her and Ginny a handful of basic household spells. She rumpled the shirt a little in a half-hearted attempt to hide the hole among the folds of the shirt. Satisfied that it was less obvious, she pushed open the door and entered. Snape was nowhere to be found.

"Professor?" She called out, her shoes making little noise as she crossed the floor. He exited the storeroom, his own robes tatty and patched. She raised an eyebrow at his unusually disheveled appearance and stifled a moue of surprise at the massive basket he clutched in his left hand. Picnic basket? How unexpected.

"Miss Granger, we will be looking for certain ingredients in the marshes near the Black Lake," he said coolly. His eyes never left hers and she thought momentarily that she had little to worry about regarding the hole in his shirt. He certainly didn't seem the type to peruse his students' figures when he could be making them uncomfortable with his unusually intense eye contact. He gestured at the door and walked through it. She followed close on his heels.

Once at the lake, he handed her a large, empty jar marked "leeches."

"Fill this," he said shortly. With a grimace, she took the jar and a small net with a very fine weave. For the next hour, she swiped ineffectively at the water, catching only enough of the nasty little creatures to fill the jar halfway. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains, leaving behind a sherbet-colored sky that was fading rapidly. Despite the chill pervading the air, Hermione's upper lip was beaded with tiny droplets of perspiration from her efforts. Looking up, she saw Snape had filled yet another jar with mysterious plants. He sneered at her own meager efforts and took the jar gingerly from her offering hands.

"Pitiful," he said softly, tucking it into the basket. He began to stride up the hill to the castle as Hermione followed, stewing.

"Leeches are difficult to catch, you know!" She called at his retreating backside. He paused before continuing. Did he shake his head at her? She grimaced, but continued to follow him, even into the dim castle.

In silence, they replaced the jars on the storeroom shelves. She appreciated, in a way she hadn't before, how the shelves were labelled so as to maintain continuity even when jars were empty or missing from the shelves. She placed the last jar on the bottom shelf, letting her fingers linger over it. Rising, she straightened her shirt and remembered with a self-conscious pang, the hole. She tried to rumple it up again to hide the glimpse of her underwear, which she was sure Snape neither wanted nor deserved.

"Do you need anything else?" She asked, hoping desperately the answer was negative.

He shook his head, "You are dismissed for the day. Have a good evening."

Odd, she thought, that he would bid her good evening when he was usually hard pressed to even remain civil to her.

"Good evening to you too, professor," she responded, attempting to keep the surprise out of her voice. Feeling herself dismissed from the dungeon, she headed for the door and the blessed respite of a tasty and filling evening meal.

"Oh and Miss Granger?"

She paused and rotated to look at him expectantly.

"Yes, Professor?"

His face was, as usual, enigmatic. Was that a ghost of a smile playing at his lips? He cocked an eyebrow at her and tilted his head.

"Next time you seek to call my attention to your… physical charms, you may wish to choose something subtler than a massive hole over your brassiere."

Hermione gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. That was _definitely_ a smile on his face. She remembered with horror that he could hear and feel her thoughts and emotions—was he aware of her entire conversation with Myrtle? And was he _laughing_ at her in his solemn, Snape-y way? Horrified, she turned on her muddy heel and fled to Gryffindor Tower, all thoughts of food vanished from her mind.


	9. Chapter 9

This is a longer than usual post, but as you'll see, quite a bit happens. As always, if you recognize something, it's not mine. Thank you for the follows, faves, and comments. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Hermione attempted to avoid Snape for the remainder of the week and—fortunately for her—the attempt seemed mutual. During Potions class, he merely swept by her cauldron with a sniff and made no comment on her flawless Anger Elixir. Normally she would have seethed with resentment as she watched him compliment Malfoy's own potion (which was, she told herself, less impressive than her own, reaching a pale jade instead of the required emerald). She was still, however, extremely embarrassed over her clothing snafu earlier in the week and eager to evade his notice.

To make matters more complicated, her meeting with Ron was the subsequent day and she was growing increasingly nervous over the outcome. If things went sour with Ron, would she be able to maintain her friendship with Harry? Things had worked out satisfactorily in the past, but with her at Hogwarts and the two of them in London, she suspected the situation would be too complicated to remain such close friends.

At the end of Snape's class Hermione was preparing to leave when Snape called her name. She considered that he might be interested in embarrassing her further and turned bright red. Nevertheless, she went up to his desk quickly. He avoided her eyes.

"I will be brewing a Wolfsbane potion tomorrow evening and I would appreciate assistance preparing the ingredients for it. Accordingly, you will be here promptly at seven after you finish with your evening meal."

"Yes, sir."

 _And this time, I'll would check my clothes before I leave the Tower_ , she thought to herself with relief.

The next morning, Hermione awoke to the sun streaming through the windows, landing in a concentrated beam on her face. Not a morning person, she dragged herself out of bed and noticed with a start that the other beds in the room were completely empty. She checked her watch and realized that she overslept by nearly two hours. Fortunately, she thought, it was a Saturday and therefore breakfast wouldn't be over for another half hour.

She raced through her morning ablutions and went down to the Great Hall as quickly as she could manage. Ginny was perusing an issue of The Daily Prophet. Hermione sat next to her with a loud sigh. Her friend raised an eyebrow.

"Late night?"

"No," she ladled steaming oatmeal into her bowl, "I just needed more sleep than usual, I suppose."

As she brought the spoon to her mouth, she saw a commotion across the hall. A young woman—a fifth year, perhaps—was sobbing into her sausages while her friends awkwardly patted her on the back.

"What's going on?"

Ginny shook her head, "Probably nothing. Her boyfriend is in the hospital wing and Madame Pomfrey won't let her come visit."

"Is he ill?" Hermione wasn't particularly interested in a young Ravenclaw's illness, but if a cold was about to sweep through the student body, it would help to be prepared to ward off a virus.

"No, I don't think so," Ginny paused, "She's being awfully close-lipped about it. He's under quarantine. Has his own private room and everything."

"Weird," She replied. She thought no more of it, her mind now fully consumed with her upcoming meeting with Ron. Ginny stood and stretched, her mouth fully extended in a yawn. Several boys from around the Hall watched in interest as her shirt raised above her navel. With a chuckle, Hermione reached over and tugged it back down.

"Thanks," Ginny said sheepishly, "Think I'll go out to the field and practice a bit." As her friend left the Hall, Hermione noticed—with some jealousy- how many pairs of eyes followed her out. Feeling a pair of eyes on her, she turned and looked at the High Table. Seated in the shadows was Snape, his eyes thoughtfully resting on her. Had he sensed her jealousy? It seemed likely.

She dismissed Snape from her mind and left the Hall. Her meeting with Ron wasn't until twelve, so she had an hour and a half to look at the book Pomfrey had lent her and make her way to Hogsmeade. She returned to the Tower and donned warmer clothes, tucking the book into her satchel. She left the castle and started down the winding road to the village. The path was surprisingly empty and she was left entirely to her anxious thoughts over her relationship with Ron.

Once in the Three Broomsticks, she quickly purchased a mug of butterbeer and found a table wedged in a corner. She propped open the book and began to examine the pages before her. To her dismay, it was less helpful than she had expected. Were there consequences to a one-way binding? She knew she couldn't have been the first person to accidentally bind herself to someone else.

 _A binding can only occur when there exists an abundance of romantic emotional sentiment on the part of the binder_ , she read. But did it have to be romantic? There was certainly an abundance of sentiment—respect for his skills as both spy and Potions master, disgust at his Death Eater status, and a myriad of other sentiments she couldn't possibly put a finger on. But _romance_? She had bound Snape to herself while in the throes of her infatuation with Ron—

Who chose that very moment to seat himself warily in front of her, a shot of Firewhiskey at his fingertips.

"Something on your mind, Hermione?" He asked quietly. She closed the book with a gentle thump and folded her hands in front of her.

"Ron," she said seriously, "How do you really feel about me?"

He paused and gazed at her thoughtfully, "I'm not sure, really."

She nodded, "Me neither. I wonder if perhaps… we didn't rush into this relationship in the spring."

Did he look…relieved?

"Yeah, I think we did. All close together in that tent and then the tensions of the battle…it seemed like we ought to get together, but I miss just being friends."

It was as though a hippogriff had been lifted off her chest, "I think it was better before too. And it's made things a little awkward with Harry."

Ron laughed and she could tell he was relieved at the way their conversation was going, "Yeah, a bit. Although, his relationship with Ginny makes things weird too. It's hard to talk about girls when he's dating my sister and I'm with you."

She snickered, "I can imagine. So…are we agreed? Our romantic relationship is at an end, but we're still friends?"

"Of course we're still friends. The three of us have been thick as thieves since we were eleven. We could hardly break that up. All the things we accomplished together in our time at Hogwarts… and," he said dreamily, "just think when you come to work at the Ministry. If we were all Aurors it would be like old times again. The three of us, working together to fight evil…" He trailed off, staring at the rafters. She rolled her eyes with a smile. Ron had always been given to flights of fancy and reverie.

The rest of their afternoon was relaxed and filled with laughter as it so often had been in the Gryffindor common room. All the awkwardness vanished with the dissolution of their relationship and Hermione wished suddenly that she had had the foresight to end it sooner—or, even better, to have never begun it in the first place. Nevertheless, it had put to rest all her restless "what-ifs" late at night.

It was nearly half past six when she looked at her watch and realized her meeting with Snape was in less than thirty minutes. She gave Ron a hug, leaving him very surprised at her voluntary physical contact, and started up the pathway to the castle.

She arrived at Snape's door with less than a minute to spare, panting and dripping icy water onto the stone floor. A change of clothes and a cup of tea would have been a welcome respite from the frigid weather, but there simply wasn't time. Snape startled her by opening the door, staring down his hooked at her disheveled appearance with no small amount of irritation.

He pointed his wand at her and silently removed the cold water from her person, warming and drying her off in the process. He stood aside and allowed her to pass without comment. The subsequent two hours were likewise spent without more conversation than needed to prepare the ingredients. She scooped the last mountain of herbs into a bowl and dusted her hands off on her skirt.

"Does this potion really take all night to brew?" She asked cautiously. She still wasn't sure what his mood would be after her clothing shenanigans earlier in the week. He nodded.

"Most of the night. It should be finished sometime around two," He said shortly.

"Could I help with it? I'd like to learn how to make this potion myself." She thought fondly of Professor Lupin and his reliance on the potion. It was clear Snape could sense her thoughts and sneered a little as he began to drag out a massive cauldron.

"If you wish," he responded.

She felt almost giddy. The thought of an all-night (or, at least, very late night) potion brewing session sounded like the perfect way to end a remarkably stressful week.

He lit the fire beneath the cauldron and, when it was hot enough, began to add ingredients meticulously. As he added them, he narrated the function and importance of each component to the potion. It was the first time she had ever seen him at work, really focusing on an advanced potion, and she was taken aback by his dedication and devotion.

He dropped a handful of fig leaves into the pot, sending up a geyser of scarlet steam, "the potion must now simmer for forty-five minutes," he paused and cast a side glance at her, "tea?"

She was startled but took pains to hide it, "Tea would be lovely."

Hermione followed the professor into his office, which was surprisingly luxurious. Despite the surroundings, it was clear he had spent considerable effort in making his little dungeon nest comfortable. The walls were lined with dark shelves crammed full of books. Some looked extremely old and she longed to pull them from the shelves and study their contents. She refrained, stuffing her hands into her pockets. The office was large enough to hold a large desk in the same burnished wood as the shelves. Behind it was an extremely comfortable chair, closely resembling one of Dumbledore's infamous squashy chairs (although Snape's, true to his style, was a stunning emerald rather than Dumbledore's favorite violet).

More surprising was the gap in the shelving occupied by a cozy little fireplace, the fire within dancing merrily. Before the fire was a velvet couch upholstered in the same bright emerald as his chair. A small side table held a tray with tea accoutrements. It was totally unlike anything she had expected out of Snape.

He filled a cast iron kettle with water and swung the iron over the fire. He then busied himself with the tea, filling the strainer with leaves and placing it carefully in the pot. It was clear he gave as much attention to his tea as to his potions. Hermione was _very_ impressed. She seated herself on the far edge of the couch, as far away from Snape as she could manage. He turned to face her as they waited for the water to heat.

"You seem troubled," he said quietly. He looked at her intently and she felt her cheeks grow warm.

"I don't know about troubled," she said slowly. He smiled—a legitimate smile, not a snarky one, to her immense surprise—at her.

"Your relationship with Mr. Weasley is at an end and you feel conflicted," he said astutely. For a brief moment she forgot he could "read" her thoughts and gaped at him.

"Yes, that's it exactly."

He raised an eyebrow and inclined his head. Both could hear the water reach a simmer. Snape removed the water and poured it into the china pot. He turned back to her.

"You may…confide if you wish," he said haltingly, "You may find me to be more sympathetic than you think."

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. Snape, sympathetic? _Worth a try_ , she thought. She could use someone to talk to after all.

"Well, we broke up today. Mutually," she added quickly. He nodded silently, "I think we both agree the relationship was a terrible idea. But Malfoy has hinted there was…an attraction between Ron and a new co-worker. I don't know that I'd say I'm particularly jealous of him, but I'm annoyed."

Again he nodded silently. He turned to pour the steeped tea into delicate cups. As she took hers from him, she noticed the pattern. The cup itself was a delicate white with an emerald pattern on it—runes? The handle was a silver snake, writhing up the edge of the cup. It was very Slytherin, she thought with a smile. She didn't ask how he knew she took her tea black.

He was still watching her, his cup and saucer sitting in his lap.

"You're concerned there may have been infidelity with this other woman," he said quietly, "or at least some measure of impropriety."

"Yes, that's it exactly," she said, looking down at her own cup, "I don't care if he's found someone else. I'm merely…disquieted by the thought that he would do such a thing to me while we were still together. We are, after all, friends."

He looked at her thoughtfully, "So you believe Draco?"

"I'm not sure. He hasn't exactly proven trustworthy in the past, but…" she trailed off.

"Draco is having difficulty with his return to Hogwarts. As you're aware, his family is newly impoverished, his father languishing in Azkaban in ignominy. For a man such as Draco, it's…humiliating to be here, even more so considering his betrothal to Miss Greengrass. For a Malfoy to be beholden to someone else is…the height of disgrace."

She considered her tea and took a sip. As expected, it scalded her tongue. She set it back down on the saucer with a tiny _clank_.

"Are you suggesting he's lying or…" she searched for the word, "embellishing just to be nasty?"

"It's a possibility," he said, considering her thoughtfully, "the best course of action seems to be the simplest and most logical. Ask Mr. Weasley if there were improprieties with this young woman," his lip curled, "and if so, hex him."

She giggled, relief washing over her. He smiled, watching her mild mirth. When her laughter subsided, she spoke.

"That's exactly the sort of excellent advice I would expect from you, Professor." He merely smiled, saying nothing. Her face grew serious.

"I spoke to Madame Pomfrey about us," she said quietly. He leaned forward.

"Us?"

"Yes," she avoided his eyes, "about how I…possibly saved your life in May and you can hear my thoughts and…when you grabbed my wrist awhile back, we both felt as though we had been burned."

"And?" his expression was unreadable. He was still leaning close to her and his aroma reached her nostrils. It was an intoxicating combination of old parchment, tea, and unidentified herbs. He smelled, in short, like his office.

"And she believes that, in healing you the way I did, I poured some of my…essence or life force, whatever you want to call it, into you and that I…accidentally bonded you to me." She pulled the book out of her satchel and handed it to her, indicating the marked page.

He took it, his black eyes skimming the page as he absorbed the material. When he looked up, his face was still difficult to read.

"It's a marriage ritual," he said blankly.

"Yes," she whispered.

"How does one does this on accident? It's not exactly simple magic" He seemed annoyed.

"I don't know! I…I placed my hands around your wound to try to stop the bleeding and I really didn't want you to die and…it just happened. It was…instinctual, I suppose."

"It just happened," he said. Oh Merlin, his lip was curling. He was _definitely_ irritated with her.

"it was a complete accident, you have to understand," she said desperately. He leaned back and stared at her for a long moment. Her cheeks grew redder.

"I believe you," he said finally. She hadn't realized she had even been holding her breath until she released it.

"Thank you," she said softly. The conversation turned to lighter topics until it was time to return to the potion simmering in the classroom.

In silence they added more ingredients. He waved his wand over the massive pot and cast a spell silently. The steam, previously scarlet, swirled into a gleaming silver moon that hung for a heavy moment over the cauldron. At his direction, she began to stir it. Fourteen clockwise, one counter-clockwise to be repeated twice. Her arm grew tired but she didn't fail to count the strokes. Finished, she let the stirrer rest against the cauldron's lip.

"That's all the labor required for the potion," he said, looking at her intently, "the rest is just waiting for it to simmer."

"Do you want me to stay and help you bottle it?" He shook his head.

"The potion must cool under precise conditions before it's bottled. I will perform the task in the morning."

"Ah," she said with dismay. She had enjoyed talking to Snape and getting to know him as an actual human, rather than an intimidating professor or a war hero.

"I suppose I should go to bed then." Despite her words, she stayed rooted to her spot.

"Yes, you should." He made no move to dismiss her.

"I'll help you clean up first." She said, rapidly moving to his workbench. He joined her, replacing caps on bottles, putting them back on the shelves, and wiping down the surfaces.

As she carried an armload of cutting boards and bowls to the sink, she tripped over a protruding stone in the floor. Snape, who was making the return trip to the workbench, caught her, sending the bowls clattering to the floor. His hands gripped her upper arms firmly as she sagged in his grip. She looked up at him and their eyes locked onto each other. There was a brief pause as they looked at each other, and without realizing it, Hermione rose to her feet and then to her toes.

Was it a hint to the professor? She wasn't sure and by the look on his face, neither was he. Nevertheless, he lowered his head. She looked up at him expectantly. Did she want him to kiss her?

The response—and his mouth—hit her simultaneously.

 _Yes_.

She leaned in closer and he released her arms, which snaked up around his neck as if of their own volition. He wrapped his own arms around her waist, pulling her even closer so that they were chest to chest. She wasn't sure how long they stayed that way, until he pulled away from her, pressing his hand to his face.

She turned bright red as he turned away from her.

"Good night, professor!" She exclaimed. She bolted away from from the classroom, panting. She was sure that if she had stayed a moment longer that they would have ended up doing far more than brewing a potion together.

She wasn't sure if she was more horrified or excited at the possibility.


	10. Chapter 10

Now that classes are back in session, I won't be updating as frequently (ugh, grad school). My goal is to publish at least one chapter a week though. As always, the inspiration is from Rowling's work—anything familiar came from her expertise. I hope you enjoy and thank you bunches for all your follows, faves, and comments. Every notification brings a massive smile to my face.

The week after her fateful brewing session with Snape passed in a haze for Hermione. She kept replaying the moment in her mind, particularly his pulling away from her and covering his face. Was he disgusted with himself? With her? Was it shame at their behavior? Without having seen his expression, she was lost for a reason. She had certainly enjoyed the encounter and was, if she was being honest with herself, eagerly anticipating her next shift with the sullen professor. By the end of the week, however, he had still not contacted her to work in his dungeon. Besides being more than a little hurt by his avoidance of her, she was concerned about the pecuniary aspect of her position. McGonagall had promised her that she would be paid a flat rate per week regardless of how many hours she worked (anticipating, perhaps, that her coworker would hardly let Hermione do anything). Nevertheless, she was worried that if she went several weeks without doing anything, the administration would assume he was well enough to resume his own duties and dismiss her.

It was, therefore, with considerable anticipation that she approached his desk after class.

"Professor?" She asked cautiously. She pressed her books closer to her chest as she watched him pretend to rummage beneath his desk.

"Hm?" He seemed distracted, but not irritated, which was a good sign.

"Do you have any work that needs done? I haven't heard from you since…since I assisted with the Wolfsbane last week."

He paused and she could almost feel him frantically making an excuse or coming up with some kind of busy work for her to do.

"I haven't anything at the moment. Perhaps…" he popped his head out from under the desk, flushed. His eyes carefully avoided hers. She raised an eyebrow as she waited for him to answer.

"Grading, perhaps," he said hurriedly.

"Grading?" She repeated. Did he really trust her with grading other students' work? How thrilling!

"Yes, erm…" he paused, "come down here after your dinner. Say, seven? You can rate some first year potions. I have a meeting with Professor Sprout at six thirty, so you'll be working down here alone."

She twisted her mouth slightly at his sly maneuver. It was clear to see that he was going out of his way to avoid her.

"That sounds fine," she said finally.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, standing up, "I have business to attend to in my office."

Hermione nodded and meandered out of the room. Was he really not going to address the hippogriff in the room? They had _kissed_ the week prior—passionately, even!—and he had nothing to say? She pressed her lips together tightly in irritation and headed to the Great Hall for lunch.

On her way in, she was accosted by a frantic Dean.

"Have you seen Seamus?" He demanded. She blinked rapidly.

"No, I haven't," she paused, "he wasn't in class, was he? I knew something seemed odd."

"No, he wasn't, and he wasn't in the Tower this morning either. His bed wasn't slept in. It's unlike him to do something like this. Even when he does skip classes or stay out with a girl, he always tells me about it first." Hermione considered him thoughtfully. He seemed unusually concerned.

Hermione momentarily contemplated her hectic third year and how often she had ended up missing class because of her punishing schedule.

"Perhaps he fell asleep somewhere else in the castle? Or he's in the library?" She suggested. Dean rolled his eyes.

"I can't imagine Seamus napping somewhere else in the castle, Hermione. Unless he was with a girl." It was remarkable, she thought, how she was suddenly seeing Snape's mannerisms in the student body. Dean was _sneering_ at her.

"It was just a suggestion," she responded with a huff. He ignored it and went in to the Hall. She followed closely, choosing a spot next to Ginny.

"Gin, have you seen Seamus? Dean seems awfully worried." She whispered. Ginny looked baffled, "No, I haven't. He's probably hanging around the castle somewhere. He's seemed really stressed lately."

Hermione shrugged, "well, whatever it was, he skipped Snape's class."

Her friend frowned, "Weird. Snape didn't even seem to notice that his class was a bit short."

Hermione bit her tongue, knowing precisely why Snape wasn't paying attention. It was clear that he was still dwelling on their encounter—though whether it was positively or negatively, she couldn't even begin to say. He had been too occupied in avoiding her to notice that his class was smaller than usual.

"You have a free period after this, right?" Ginny asked, ladling gravy over her roast beef. Hermione nodded, her mouth full of potato. She swallowed hard.

"Yeah, why?"

"You should come down to the Quidditch pitch with me. I'm going to do some drills with our new beater." Hermione started to object, but Ginny cut her off.

"You've been holed up in the library for ages. It would do you good to get some fresh air."

She realized with a start that her friend was right. Since her evening with the Potions professor, she had been hiding in the library by herself. Gratefully, she nodded to Ginny, "That would be great. I'd love to come with you."

They finished the meal in silence, both listening with increasing worry as Dean fretted over his best friend. When they had finished with their meal, they walked wordlessly out to the field. Ginny, seeing the new teammate, ran ahead with her broom and box of balls. Hermione lingered after her, gazing out at the nearby Forbidden Forest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small movement. She turned toward it and saw what appeared to be a foot poking out from under a bush. Her eyebrows knit together as she hurried towards it.

"Seamus!" Upon arrival, she found the young man, pale as parchment. Feeling his neck, she could detect the faintest heartbeat.

"Ginny!" She screamed. The redhead darted over.

"Bloody hell, it's Seamus!" She exclaimed. Hermione nodded and began to pull him out from under the bush by the ankles.

"He needs to go to Pomfrey immediately," She declared. She quickly levitated him and began a hasty retreat toward the castle, Ginny close behind. They came across a number of students in the hall, who appeared stupefied at the sight of the school nerd (and resident student war hero) and the Gryffindor Quidditch captain floating a seemingly-dead seventh-year through the halls.

"Madame Pomfrey, it's an emergency!" Hermione exclaimed, pushing the door open with her foot. Seeing Seamus floating lifelessly in the air, the older witch sprung into action.

"Through here, through here," she bustled them into a small room in the corner outfitted with a narrow metal bed and small table. Hermione gently placed him on the bed. Without a glance at the two women behind her, Pomfrey took his pulse, clucking at its faint beat. She twisted her mouth and awkwardly placed her hand on the juncture of his thighs. Ginny looked over at Hermione with a raised eyebrow at the unexpected movement.

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" Hermione asked, her arms crossed. Madame Pomfrey nodded her head.

"Did you find the source of his injury?" She asked directly, turning to look them in the eyes.

"No, we thought it best we get him to you immediately."

"That's good. I'm afraid there's a monster loose on the grounds. Young Mr. Finnegan is the third to come in since the term began with this kind of injury."

The Gryffindors exchanged cautious looks.

"What sort of injury would that be, Madame Pomfrey?" Ginny asked.

"A dreadful one. I can't go into particulars. Miss Granger, could you run and fetch Professor Snape? I'm going to need his brewing skills with these injuries."

Hermione nodded and headed down to the dungeon while Ginny remained in the hospital wing.

"Professor Snape?" Hermione didn't even consider the possibility that he would be in class; fortunately for her, he was quite alone in his office. The fire danced merrily as he hunched over his desk, his pen scratching angrily on parchment.

"Yes?" His tone was less harsh than she had expected. Almost…gentle.

"Madame Pomfrey needs you. Seamus has been injured."

A look of alarm crossed his taciturn features. He followed her out the door and again, she caught the scent of him in her nostrils. Today there was an additional note—something almost spicy. Clove? She couldn't identify the source of the new odor.

They hurried wordlessly up to Pomfrey's tower. Upon seeing Seamus, the blood drained from his face, making it appear even more sallow than usual.

"Another one, Poppy?" He said quietly. She nodded, her gaze still locked on her patient. She was spooning a violet liquid into his mouth, massaging his throat to ensure it was fully swallowed.

"I'm nearly out of the blood replenishing potion you made last month and I can't seem to find it in any of the usual places."

"I'll start it immediately. Do you need anything else?" Ginny looked over at Hermione, her eyebrows raised. It was evident that she was surprised at his helpfulness.

"No, my stores of everything else are fine at the moment, Severus."

Snape turned to return to the dungeon. His steps on the stairs were quick and light. Hermione followed after him.

"Professor, could I help with the potion? From what I've read, it's a very complicated one."

"I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself, Miss Granger," he said softly. He cast a sideways glance at her, noting her crestfallen expression.

"However," he paused, looking straight ahead. The color returned rapidly to his cheeks, "if you insist, you may join me. Have you any more classes this afternoon?"

"No," she replied quickly, "yours is my last one on Thursdays."

He nodded curtly. She tried to keep her excitement at bay, knowing he'd instantly be able to sense it. Nevertheless, his expression lightened and she could tell he had felt her turbulent emotions.

They began the potion immediately after arriving in the dungeon. They worked together in companionable silence for almost a half hour. She luxuriated in the sensation of the two of them laboring together in such a way. It was dissimilar to anything she had ever experienced. Unlike Harry or Ron, he did not rely on her to do the bulk of the work; rather, his expertise and her knowledge made them excellent partners. They worked in tandem, their movements flowing together seamlessly. She had a momentary vision of the two of them working in a different laboratory; perhaps, she considered briefly, a home laboratory, making potions for household use. She dismissed the thought as quickly as it occurred to her as teenage nonsense.

"Professor?" She asked tentatively. He inclined his head inquisitively at her.

"Do you know what's going on? Three of the seventh year boys have been hospitalized? And they're all desperately in need of blood?"

He paused for a long moment, "They have been attacked."

"Well, yes, but…by what?"

He stared at her for what felt like an eternity. She squirmed under his intense gaze before resuming his chopping.

"They have been…castrated," he said haltingly. She looked at him, mouth agape.

"Castrated?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

"But… _why_?"

He looked her again, a smile twitching at the edge of his lips. He cocked an eyebrow.

"For diabolical purposes, I'm sure," he said dryly.

She shook her head at her pile of roots, knowing he was being deliberately obtuse. She had a suspicion—a vague one, but a suspicion nonetheless—that Snape knew what was happening and the identity of the perpetrator. Still, she didn't want to suspect him—perhaps, she considered, her mixed emotions toward the professor were clouding her judgment.

He emptied the last of the ingredients into the cauldron with a brisk clap.

"Needs to simmer for an hour and a half before the next step. Tea?" He looked remarkably cheerful. She nodded her assent and followed him into his office.

"Professor Snape?" She asked. She seated herself on the far edge of the couch, away from the professor.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" He busied himself with filling the kettle.

"I'd like to propose an experiment."

"A potions experiment?" He swung the kettle over the fire and turned to her expectantly.

"No…a different one. I've been thinking about the mental connection I instigated a few months back. I'm wondering if Occlumency could...help."

He looked at her thoughtfully, "That's an interesting idea. If you were to use Occlumency against me, it might put a stop to the endless barrage of thoughts and feelings that radiate from you."

Was he laughing at her? She couldn't tell. She decided to proceed as if he were serious.

"Yes. Well. That's the idea. Anyway, do you think you could teach me?"

"Your NEWTS are in the spring, and you want to take on another subject? As I'm sure Mr. Potter has informed you, Occlumency is a very difficult task. It requires immense mental and emotional strength. With all your studying," he gesticulated vaguely before returning his fidgety hands to his lap, "Are you sure you'd be up to the task?"

She flushed hotly, "If you're implying I can't do it—" He cut her off.

"I'm implying nothing. I'm merely _suggesting_ that you may find it too strenuous an addition to your workload," he said coolly.

"I think I can handle it." She responded, her voice defiant.

He regarded her for a long moment. They both heard the water begin to simmer in the kettle. He pulled it from the fire and poured it gently in the pot, submerging the tea bags.

"No leaves?" She asked with a slight smile. She could hear him chuckle in the back of his throat.

"I'll leave those to Sybill," he responded with a wry smile. He replaced the kettle on its hook next to the fire and replaced his hands in his lap.

There was a long silence as they waited for the tea to steep.

"About last week…" she said cautiously. She watched his face intently, but it showed no change. He continued to look at her with that enigmatic look on his face.

"A misstep on my behalf," he said softly.

"A misstep? So…you regret it?"

He paused before replying, "I did not say that I regretted my actions, merely that I should not have…embraced you in such a way. It was highly inappropriate for me to do that to you." He looked away from her and she saw a pinkness creep slowly up his neck.

"I don't regret it," she said. Her voice was soft, but firm. He cast her a sharp look.

"Miss Granger…" He seemed to choke on his words, turning his attention to the tea. He silently poured her a cup and handed it to her, the delicate china rattling noisily in its saucer. Snape didn't finish his thought, sipping his tea silently. She watched him, knowing the tea must be scalding his tongue. Like him, she said nothing. It was the most awkward tea she had ever drunk, with both of them pretending not to notice the other while they watched each other out of the corner of their eyes. Finally, he spoke.

"A relationship would be impossible, not to mention…the height of impropriety."

She looked down at her tea, watching it swirl in the cup. She hadn't said anything about a relationship—but his comment made her wonder. Was he interested in her in more than a physical way? And what exactly was the nature of her feelings toward him? Somehow she still hadn't quite figured them out.

"I'm quite aware of that," She eventually responded. Hermione looked at him steadily. They watched each other warily and she thought with a mental laugh how ridiculous they would have looked had anyone walked in unexpectedly. Both sat at the far edges of the sofa, clutching tea as though it were a life preserver, staring at each other with highly charged gazes.

The beeping of his little timer startled them out of their staring contest.

"The potion," he mumbled to himself. He rose awkwardly and she followed him into the classroom. Silently they completed the next step, adding piles of finely sliced herbs (precisely rolled and cut in a chiffonade, as the instructions dictated). She watched as he delicately waved his wand over the steaming cauldron, his incantations silent. The potion transformed from pale lavender to ebony to scarlet. It was utterly mesmerizing.

He set his wand aside, steadily avoiding her gaze.

"I think…I can handle the rest alone," he said quietly. She took the hint and prepared to leave. An idea struck her.

"Professor?" He turned to look at her with anticipation and with no notice, she flew into his arms. She flung her own arms around his neck, eagerly pressing her lips to his. He was unresponsive for a brief moment before taking control. His arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer to him. His tongue gently pushed her lips apart before beginning a slow, tortuous exploration of her mouth. Their tongues danced, sparred, played with each other. She moaned softly against his mouth. He turned and pressed her against one of the rickety lab tables. She rested one hip on it, then the other, seating herself on it. She briefly thought of Myrtle's suggestion that she have sex with (she could hardly bring herself to use the word _fuck_ even in a thought) the professor on one of the tables. Still, the thought was tempting.

He was leaning against her knees, his arms wrapped around her. Without thinking she spread them, crossing her ankles daintily behind his back, pulling him closer to her with her thighs. His hands trailed down her back, feeling the softness of her sweater. She mimicked his actions, smoothing her own hands over his cashmere clothing. The scent of him filled her nostrils so fully and completely that she couldn't sense anything else. He pulled his lips from hers only to trail them down the silken column of her neck.

"This is wrong," he murmured against her flesh. She arched her neck into his lips, making a soft moue of pleasure.

"But it feels so right," she breathed. His hands crept up her ribcage, thumbing the hard line of her bra's underwire beneath her sweater. His own actions seemed to give him pause. He tore his mouth from her skin and buried his forehead into her shoulder.

"This is _wrong_ ," he repeated raggedly, "we have to cease this…ridiculous behavior."

She stroked his hair silently, her chin resting against his head. She noticed with vague amusement that his hair wasn't as greasy as she thought it would be. Oh, it didn't feel overly clean, but the impression of poor hygiene was from the fine texture of his hair. Where hers was thick and nearly coarse, tumbling down her back in a mass of unrestrained curls and—she admitted—a jumble of snarls, his hair was the texture of spun silk. She decided that he needed volumizing products to diminish the look of grease. Hermione caught herself wondering what it would be like to wash his hair, their wet bodies pressed together as blazing hot water poured around them—

She, or rather _he_ , stopped her daydream. He pulled away from her, his hands rubbing his face briskly as if to restore sensation to it. She collected herself, pulling her knees together and yanking her skirt down to cover her thighs. She slipped off the table and walked over to him slowly.

"Professor…?" She asked hesitantly. He gave a harsh laugh.

"You might as well call me Severus now that I've had my tongue down your throat."

She blushed hotly, "Severus. It was my fault this time, there's no need to blame yourself."

He turned and looked at her, his expression one of disbelief, "I'm the teacher. I should have stopped you.'

"I'm glad you didn't," She said, staring insolently into his eyes. He was clearly at a loss for words at her response. Although she didn't have the same link with him that he had with her, his thoughts were as clear to her as if he had spoken them aloud. He was glad she had attacked him with such ferocity or he wouldn't have responded in such a way.

He adopted a business-like air.

"So, Occlumency lessons. Thursday afternoons?" He raised his eyebrows at her. She cocked one at him, regarding him thoughtfully.

"Yes, I think Thursday afternoons would work well," she responded in the same coolly detached voice. He nodded briskly.

"Well, I'll be off then," she said casually. He nodded, evidently trusting himself to say nothing. He stayed rooted to his spot.

"Have a good afternoon… _Severus_."

She left him there, in the dungeon, his thoughts swirling around him like a tornado. Hers were little better. Later, she observed that he skipped the evening meal, his absence as glaringly obvious to her as a missing tooth in a child's smile.

She was too distracted to contribute significantly to the dinner conversation; Ginny, assuming her elder companion was still agitated over the earlier afternoon's events left her to her own devices.

Hermione, grateful for the solitude, retired early and spent her night tossing and turning with her body aflame. She could still feel his gentle caresses and wondered feverishly what those exquisite hands would feel like on her bare skin. She was determined to find out.

 _Soon_.


	11. Chapter 11

Note: After a week's hiatus, here is the eleventh chapter of the story. This one was particularly fun to write ;) Thank you tons for the faves, follows, and comments (even when I haven't posted in a few days! I love it!). As always, all credit goes to JK Rowling.

"Miss Granger!" Ardentia Dracula stood in front of Hermione's desk, her small hands firmly pressed to her hips. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously. Hermione was startled out of her daydream. Beside her, Parvati snickered into her feathered quill.

"Yes, professor?"

"I asked if you could tell me the process by which one creates an Inferi." Her smug smile indicated that she expected Hermione to get the question wrong. Inwardly, Hermione smirked.

"Of course, Professor. One has to find the corpse of a man or women dead for less than seven hours, then…" As she continued with her answer, the professor's eyes continued to narrow with annoyance. Hermione finished. Around her, the Gryffindors' faces were all crossed with massive smiles.

"Fine," the professor responded curtly. She moved away quickly, her sapphire robes swishing over the wood flooring. Hermione looked back down at her parchment and saw where the ink of her quill had dripped everywhere as her mind had wandered. Ever since her last late-night brewing session with Snape, she had found her mind frequently drifting back to his dungeon. She luxuriated in the memory of his arms around her, his fingers pulling at her underwear, his steely length pressed to her core…

With a start, she realized she had lapsed back into her daydream. She could see Professor Dracula pacing at the front of the classroom, clearly irritated that her plan to dock points from Gryffindor thwarted. She pointed her wand at the parchment and silently vanished the extra ink.

Fortunately for Hermione, the rest of the class passed without incident. She wasn't sure she could bear the humiliation of losing more points to that dreadful woman. Her triumph over the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was short-lived, however, as Transfiguration was, to put it mildly, a debacle.

McGonagall set them in pairs to practice transfiguring another person into an inanimate object. For whatever reason—her idea of a joke, perhaps? —she had paired Draco with Hermione.

"Remember, _demutatis_!" She trilled. As always, her eyes alighted upon the best student.

"Miss Granger," she said warmly, "show us what you can do." Suddenly seventeen pairs of eyes were firmly set on her. She cleared her throat and extended her wand.

"Demutatis!" She said firmly. To her surprise, a stream of blue flame enveloped Draco. The room fell silent. McGonagall cleared her throat and rapidly doused the flames with her wand. Draco stood before them, his clothing singed and hanging in rags around him. His hair and eyebrows were burned, but his skin was mysteriously only somewhat pinkened. Hermione saw with a blush that his midriff was incredibly muscled, his abdominals perfectly chiseled. _Figures_ , she thought to herself. Knowing Draco's vanity and immense ego, he probably had the Room of Requirement create a state-of-the-art fitness center for him on a daily basis.

Seeing his state of undress—not to mention his singed chest hair—Draco shrieked, a high, girlish noise echoing through the room. There was a loud snicker. Draco slowly looked up at Hermione, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"I'll kill you for this!" He growled, lunging for her. She stepped back, pointing her wand at him unsteadily. McGonagall pounced, gripping the young man around the waist.

"There will be no murders in my class today, Mr. Malfoy," she said firmly. She gestured around his waist at Dean.

"Mr. Thomas, you will escort Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing. I believe Madame Pomfrey will wish to examine him." Dean nodded hesitantly and extended a hand to Draco, who ignored it. Together, the two left, the Gryffindor casting a look of disbelief at his classmates over his shoulder.

"Well!" McGonagall clapped her hands together, "I believe that's enough excitement for the day. Class is dismissed early. I want all of you to practice the spell and attain reasonable competency before the next meeting of our class. It is imperative that you master it!" She called after their retreating backs, "I _promise_ it will be on your NEWT exam!"

Hermione lingered after the rest.

"Professor?" She asked haltingly. McGonagall gave her a stern look over her glasses.

"Miss Granger," She said sternly, "I understand that Mr. Finnegan's absence is hard for all the Gryffindors. But _please_ refrain from setting things on fire—particularly your classmates."

Internally she chuckled, but kept her facial expression solemn, "Understood, professor. But, I…I don't even know what spell I cast on Draco."

The professor shook her head at Hermione, "That's difficult to say. It's quite possible that you pronounced the spell wrong—but it sounded perfectly correct. I really can't say what happened. Sometimes accidents happen, and you have to…accept that, I suppose."

Hermione's brows knitted together, "That doesn't sound right, though. I've never made such a mistake before. I don't understand how I can say something and something completely different happens."

"Perhaps it was a…subconscious wish to inflict harm on Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall suggested softly, "I know that throughout most of your days at Hogwarts, you, Potter, and Weasley were hardly friends with any of the Slytherins. And you have attained enough competency in non-verbal spells to be able to do such a thing without saying the appropriate spell."

Hermione nodded, still unconvinced. Nevertheless, she decided to follow McGonagall's tried and true remedy for a bad mood—tea. She decided to pop into the kitchens, where she knew the house elves would be ready and waiting with tea and some kind of delicious pastry.

On her way to the stairwell, she passed by the DADA classroom. Her ears immediately perked up when she heard the dulcet tones of Professor Snape.

"—ridiculous that this should happen again, _they_ _will_ _find_ _out_ — "

"Don't be absurd, Severus," She interrupted smoothly, "All the victims were found near the Forbidden Forest. You can't possibly imagine that I would be a suspect when it's clearly something in that absurd forest of yours. Who in their right mind would build a school for children next to a wooded monster-zoo?"

She heard him sigh loudly and wondered for a brief second if he could sense her standing outside the door. Probably, she thought to herself, if he could hear her thoughts from across the crowded Great Hall, her standing outside a classroom would be akin to whispering into his ear.

There was a long pause. Silence. The sound of a woman's heels clacking on the floor and the clean rustle of robes swishing through the air. A whisper. She craned her neck to hear, wishing she had one of Fred and George's Extendable Ears.

"And yet, even if I were the one at fault, you could tell no one, could you?"

"You underestimate my influence and standing in this school, Ardentia."

"Ah, but do I? It was hardly difficult for them to believe you had defected to the Dark Lord's side. It was never wholly believable that you had gone over to the light. After all," there was a short pause and Hermione imagined the other woman trailing her fingers up Severus' arm. She seemed the type to be handsy with people who hated the feel of her cool appendages on their skin, "people like this aren't the type to be good. We were born bad, Severus, and no amount of pining after ostentatiously good people will ever change that."

Snape said nothing. Hermione craned further to hear his response. Her strain was rewarded with the professor himself, his prominent nose and cashmere robes storming out of the classroom. He toppled over her and with a flurry of robes and slender limbs, they tumbled to the ground.

"Miss Granger!" Dracula roared. Hermione, flat on her back with Snape half on top of her looked confused.

"I was on my way to Gryffindor Tower when Professor Snape bumped into me," She lied. She hoped she looked convincing. Her breath grew short and she could feel his body pressed to hers, his hand lying carelessly on her midriff. He yanked himself to his feet quickly and a strange sense of loss engulfed her.

"Come," he said shortly, "You may return to your tower later. I need you in the dungeon." He extended a hand to her and she stared at it for a long moment. Dracula narrowed her eyes, her arms crossed. Hermione could see that she didn't believe either of them. She took his hand—it was warm and soft, just as she had remembered in her many daydreams—and scrambled to her feet. He refrained from giving his colleague a smug glance, choosing instead to sweep down the hall. As enamored as she was of him, Hermione couldn't help but mentally make the comparison to an oversized bat.

She trotted after him, stuffing her books into her bag as she walked. They continued down to the dungeons in silence. Upon their entrance into the dungeons, he slammed the door with a flick of his wand.

"Were you spying on us?" He demanded as he turned to face her. She swallowed hard.

"I couldn't help but overhear. It wasn't intentional, I promise." She said rapidly. He stalked closer until he was standing nearly nose to nose with her. His black eyes looked harsh as they drilled into hers and she knew he was listening closely to her frantic thoughts in an attempt to determine the truth. She tried to suppress them and wished she were better versed in Occlumency.

His expression softened slightly and she relaxed.

"That will do, Miss Granger. Tea?" Without waiting for her answer, he swept into his office. She stared after him before following.

"You know, now that you've had your tongue down my throat, you might as well call me Hermione." She said cheekily. She leaned against the doorframe with a sly smile.

He looked up at her as he swung the kettle over the fire.

"Touché," he responded with a slight grin. He rose and straightened his robes.

"Have a seat?" He gestured toward the sofa. Was it her imagination or did it look a bit smaller than it had the last time she had been in his office? Dismissing the thought, she plopped herself in the middle of the seat. He cocked an eyebrow before sitting next to her. She could feel his robes brush against hers and his glorious scent fill her nostrils.

"So, Occlumency lessons?"

He looked confused, "it isn't Thursday yet."

"So…" she trailed off, gazing into the fire, "this is a…social visit?"

He paused as he followed her thoughts, "is that all you think about, Hermione?" She couldn't quite read his expression. Was it amusement, or was he genuinely baffled? She wasn't sure.

"Well, not all. I wouldn't be opposed to a lesson in guarding my thoughts rather than…well, you know." She blushed faintly. He _definitely_ looked amused, she decided. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He sat stiffly next to her, unmoving. She tilted her head to look up at him.

"I'm not entirely sure this is appropriate," he said quietly, his face somber. She was no longer so certain of her assessment of his mood. She straightened up.

"No, it's not. But that's why you invited me here, wasn't it?" Hermione was taken aback. She had not expected to have her physical advances rebuffed. He paused and she could tell his thoughts were racing.

"I'm not sure why I invited you here. I suppose I simply wanted to spend time with you." He didn't meet her gaze, choosing instead to grab the kettle from the fire and pour it into the pot. The steam trailed out of the spout invitingly.

She wondered, not for the first time, how Snape actually felt about her. She was positive he was physically attracted to her—after all, he had demonstrated _that_ more than once. She watched him sitting quietly on the sofa next to her, his eyes locked on the fire as if it could save him from his evident embarrassment.

"I'm glad you did," she responded, looking down at her lap. She felt his gaze shift. His hand crept over the tiny space between them to rest on her hand. She turned it over and his hand clasped around hers. He removed himself briefly to prepare the tea and when he returned to his seat, he snuggled in closer to her.

"I was looking over Harry's copy of your old Potions book awhile back," she said, glancing over at him. He looked at her quizzically. "And I was wondering how you discovered all those things. Was it by trial and error or had you read of them elsewhere?"

He looked at her for a long moment, "A mixture of both. My mother was more than competent at potion-making. I spent many a morning or afternoon chopping roots or stirring things for her as she experimented while my father was at work. Some of the notes came from her work. Others were guesses I made based on prior reading and experience. The ones that failed were crossed out."

She nodded thoughtfully, "Makes sense. I wish I had grown up with magical parents sometimes."

"It doesn't necessarily help one fit in," he said seriously, "despite my experience with the wizarding world, I was still ostracized until my classmates discovered my talent at potion-making."

"I often wondered as a first year whether Harry and Ron were only pretending to be friends with me because I helped them with their schoolwork so often." She had never before admitted that to anyone. What had ever possessed her to tell Snape?

He smirked, "I often wondered the same thing when I watched the three of you together."

She chuckled, "I suppose we do make an incongruous trio."

He shook his head, "not at all. As the three of you matured, I observed that each of you filled a vital function within the group. When it was evident that there was an argument between one or more members of the group, things were very clearly unbalanced."

"Did you really watch us that closely? You seemed as though you hated us all so much" She asked.

"I found you all extremely annoying. Potter and Weasley never paid attention, their schoolwork was rarely up to the standard it ought to have been and you constantly tested my patience with your incessant questions and smug attitude. Initially I watched out of curiosity; later, I realized how important Potter, and by association, yourself and Mr. Weasley, would become to the wizarding world. And this year," his voice softened, "I have learned to see you in a different light."

"So this…attraction, or whatever you want to call it is an entirely new thing?" She asked cautiously. He looked at her seriously.

"I never saw you as anything but a child and a student until last May. I have not…waited for you to mature so I could have your way with you, if that is what you're implying," he responded, almost stiffly. She immediately saw he was hurt.

"I wasn't trying to imply it. It's a natural question though. You know that if—if people found out about…well, about us, they would ask how long this had been going on, and there would be rumors of impropriety. You know it as well as I do."

He looked away for a brief moment, "Such questions would offend my sensibilities, but as usual, you're correct. They would find the gap in our ages a cause for comment."

"Does it matter to you, Severus?" She set her teacup into its saucer with a little rattle. His eyes locked with hers, "No, not at all."

"It doesn't matter to me either."

His expression lightened significantly and once more his hand crept over to hers. She ignored it and, setting her tea accoutrements to the side, flung herself into his arms. She had clearly caught him unawares; his hands fluttered awkwardly as he blindly hunted for a place to set his own teacup and saucer. After the briefest moment, he returned her embrace, his arms wrapping around her torso.

Their lips pressed against each other, her hands frantically moving over his chest and shoulders. Once again, his tongue slipped between her lips, seeking her tongue. She responded with fervor, pressing her body closer to his. She had flung herself sideways, her bottom nestled between his legs and her own legs stretched over the sofa. One of his hands tore itself from her back, smoothing itself over the soft skin of her calf, her outer thigh. It paused momentarily at the hem of her skirt before slipping beneath it, sliding his long slender fingers over the bare skin of her hip. It removed itself from her skin and unfastened her required school robes, sliding them off her shoulders.

She moaned a little against his mouth and wriggled closer. She had reclined in his embrace and he moved to pull her to an upright position. She realized quickly what he was aiming for and swung one of her legs over his, effectively straddling his lap. She wiggled closer and realized with a little jump that she had nestled his crotch into her own. It was a perfectly delightful feeling.

He seemed to feel as daring as she did and slid his hands beneath her sweater, failing to hesitate at her bra as he had previously. With a little tug—and more than a little cooperation from his willing participant—he lifted her sweater over her head and flung it on the cushion next to him.

He pulled his lips from hers and pressed feverish kisses down her throat. His hands were once again moving as if of their own accord, smoothly moving over her revealed stomach and back. She was nearly purring when she felt a faint tug as he pulled at the clasp of her bra and unhesitatingly unfastened it. She lifted her hands from his shoulders and he stopped his movement, his eyes searching hers. Without breaking eye contact she slid the straps of the unnecessary garment from her shoulders and flung the piece atop her sweater. His eyes slowly moved from her face down her throat and to her exposed breasts. He made a noise—was it a gasp? A moan? —and pressed his face into the valley between her breasts. He nuzzled her bare skin with his nose ( _I knew it was going to be handy_ , she thought to herself smugly) before moving his lips to her right breast. His tongue protruded from his lips to encircle the pink nipple, which had puckered in the cool dungeon air.

"Merlin!" She exclaimed softly as as his lips clamped softly around her hot flesh. Her lower half was aflame with desire, a longing so intense that it physically hurt. She attempted to relieve the pain by grinding into him, mashing her drenched nether regions into his stiffened ones. He made another noise, this one deep in his throat, before moving to the other breast. Her head fell back as she was overcome with the sensation of his mouth on her body. Somehow her writhing into him wasn't relieving that overwhelming ache; rather, it only inflamed her more.

She moved his hands from her back to her skirt clad bottom. He took the hint and grasped the firm cheeks through the thick material as he continued to suckle on her breasts. _Could one die from arousal_ , she mused. He lifted his head with a sly smile, "No, Hermione, one can not perish from sexual frustration, although" he paused and flipped up her skirt, his hands kneading and massaging her backside, "this would not be the worst way to die."

His hands moved lower, feeling the tops of her thighs. His fingers seemed to be moving inward, brushing the very top of her inner thigh, his index finger brushing against her most sensitive region through her thin cotton panties. She jumped at the contact. It was the first time anyone but her had touched that area; Ron, she had suspected, would have approached her most tender regions with the sensitivity of a Blast-Ended Skrewt and had thus not been permitted near them.

He lifted his head at her little leap in his lap, "are you all right?" he demanded. She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak.

"You're the first person to ever…" she trailed off as she saw his eyes narrow.

"You mean you're…" She nodded again, her throat tight. His expression changed.

"You mean to tell me that you spent all those months with Potter and Weasley in a tent and never once…?" She flushed hotly.

"We were arguing and looking for Horcruxes. There was hardly the time or the interest in an orgy." He looked at her with disbelief.

"Is that a problem?" She asked in a small voice. He shook his head.

"No, it doesn't have to be."

"I'm not saying that I want to…do everything just now, but…I was rather enjoying myself. Could we…go a bit further?" He raised an eyebrow at her question and let his eyes leisurely roam her half naked body.

"We'll go as far as you want." He unzipped her skirt and she stood to allow him to slide it off. She was nearly naked, apart from her underwear and footwear. As she stood before him, his eyes took in her body, his hands sliding over her breasts, her torso, her hips. They paused briefly at the band of her panties. She put her hands over his and, taking a deep breath, pulled them down. He finished the job and she daintily stepped out of them. She moved to return to his lap, but Snape— _Severus_ , she kept mentally reminding herself—clearly had other plans. He swept her other clothes onto the floor and she resumed her former seat next to him.

He shook his head a little and gently pushed her back onto a pile of cushions that had not been there before. Lifting one foot, then the other, he removed her socks and shoes, his hands massaging each foot. She wiggled a little on the couch, luxuriating in the feel of the velvet on her bare skin. He was encouraged by her movement and placed one of her feet on the cold floor, hooking the other behind the back of the couch. She flushed even redder as he looked at her, completely spread to his gaze.

He ran his hands along her inner thighs, working his way to the apex of her thighs.

"So beautiful," he whispered, his eyes boring into hers. His fingers pried her flesh apart and his thumb began to move on her, sending jolting waves of pleasure through her body. She was overwhelmed. She felt…hotter somehow, as if the room had suddenly warmed up to a hundred degrees. He was still looking at her, watching her face, but she was no longer paying attention. Her eyes had rolled back in her head, her fingers grasping at the velvet cushions. Behind her eyelids there was a flash of light and then complete darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

Warning: this chapter is a little smutty.

When Hermione regained consciousness, she was extremely disoriented. She was still naked, but wrapped snugly in a soft emerald blanket. She lifted her head—was that a pillow beneath it?—and looked around.

 _This must be Snape's room_ , she thought. It was warmer than she expected. As young students, she, Harry, and Ron had often laughingly speculated about the Potion master's quarters. They had imagined it to be as cold and cheerless as the classroom, with stone gargoyles lurking in all the corners.

Instead, the octagonal room was lovingly decorated in silver, dark wood, and emerald green, much like his private office. Elegant tapestries clung to four of the the stone walls, depicting Hogwarts' early history. Two of the walls had tall doors—one of which, she speculated, must lead to a bathroom of some sort. A third was entirely consumed with a massive stone fireplace, in which a lively fire danced merrily.

She was tempted to get up and peruse the massive bookshelves, but thought better of it. She wasn't sure how Severus would feel about her snooping through his things. Almost as if she had summoned him, the man himself poked his greasy head through one of the doorways. Seeing her sitting up, he smiled toothily.

"Finally awake, I see," he bustled into the bedroom, clutching a red bottle. She noticed that he had removed his sweater and unfastened the first few buttons. Reaching the edge of the bed, he handed her the small vial. She took it cautiously and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Just a Pepper-Up potion. Nothing mysterious," he smiled and sat next to her. She popped off the cap and downed it in a big swig, grimacing a little at the heat that trailed its way down her throat.

"So, erm, I…fainted?" She asked, re-capping the bottle. His smile grew.

"I must be exceptionally good with my fingers,"

She turned bright red, "I suppose," She mumbled. His smile faded a little.

"Are you…well?" His speech was haltingly. It seemed apparent that he wasn't used to genuinely asking after people's well-being.

"I'm not sure," she looked down at her hands, "my magic feels like it's…changing. Everything feels _different_ , somehow. My spells aren't working—I set Malfoy on fire, after all, and it was actually an accident—I fainted when you were…" she trailed off. His eyes narrowed.

"Strange," he murmured, "my magic seems to have grown stronger since the summer. When did you notice things begin to change?"

She shook her head, "I'm not sure. There were little things over the summer—burning potatoes, exploding a pie, melting Ron's cauldron—that I assumed were merely accidents. But now I wonder if it was all symptomatic of a larger issue."

They were quiet for a long moment, both considering their unique bond and the changes it had wrought in their systems.

"I need to do more research on that binding ceremony," she said finally, "I need to know if an incomplete bond is going to…destroy me or something."

He nodded, "I'll do some research of my own. It would be a terrible shame if Hogwarts lost its best student for saving my life."

She looked up at him gratefully, noticing for the first time since the first banquet of the school year, how much younger he looked since the end of the war. The lines that had peppered his skin had nearly vanished and his face had lost the puffiness it had had since her first year. His face looked smooth, the clean, sharp angles of his cheekbones more prominent. He was far handsomer than she had realized.

Severus looked back at her, his expression more than fond. He extended an arm and she curled up at his side with a soft sigh of contentment. A thought occurred to her.

"Severus?"

"Hmm?"

"You said the other day that Seamus had been…castrated. For diabolical purposes. And I overheard you and the new professor arguing. It sounded almost as if she was admitting to doing it."

Beneath her cheek, his chest fell as he exhaled slowly.

"She has not admitted to doing so, but I believe she is the one behind it."

Hermione sat up, "then why haven't you gone to McGonagall?" She demanded. In her indignation, she had allowed the blanket to fall to her lap, exposing her breasts. His gaze dropped appreciatively to the exposed globes and he paused, licking his lips, before answering. His eyes slowly rose to meet hers.

"I was aware of your presence when you began to eavesdrop," he started, "and I know you heard what she said to me—that people like us were not meant to live a life in the light. That my being with the Order was wholly unbelievable. And…" he looked around the room, his eyes finally settling on the fire, "she's not the only one to say such things to me. Many of my former colleagues expressed disbelief that I had been acting in a dual role. Somehow, Dumbledore's faith in me—misplaced though I always thought it was—was never enough."

She pursed her lips, "So…you're not going to Professor McGonagall because you think she won't believe you?"

He nodded, "My former life as a Death Eater has destroyed my credibility in the eyes of many. Minerva didn't care for me when I was a student and she argued vociferously against my appointment as Potions professor."

Hemione nodded. Having similarly judged Snape, she could well understand McGonagall's position. Still, he seemed reformed enough to her.

"So…what makes you think it was Professor Dracula who attacked the students?"

"She's…" he paused as he searched for the words, "a kind of vampire. It should come as no surprise to you that she was bosom companions with Bellatrix Lestrange. Although Bella did not possess Ardentia's special…talent, they were just alike."

She shook her head, "I'm afraid I still don't understand. If she's a vampire, then wouldn't the victims have holes in their neck? Or elsewhere? Why have they been castrated?" She stared at him for a moment, "is she using their genitals for some kind of ritual?" She sounded scandalized and Snape couldn't help but smile.

"No, nothing so diabolical, I'm sure," he rose and fetched a book from one of his tall bookcases. He returned to the bed, flipping through the pages rapidly, "here," he pushed the tome towards her. She took it, savoring the heft of it in her hands.

"The rarest of vampires are those in possession of…vagina dentate. Do you mean…" she twisted her face in disgust, "She has _teeth_ in her… _area_?"

He chuckled at her squeamishness and nodded, "indeed. Fresh out of the school, she and Bellatrix often enjoyed going to Muggle pubs and picking up young men for a night of sexual perversion. At the end of the evening, or whenever they had tired of them, they would kill their prey. Both delighted in conjuring up the most depraved methods of murder possible."

"That's the most repugnant thing I think I've ever heard," Hermione said, looking down at the book. He snickered. It was a strange noise coming from Snape.

"I saw far worse as a Death Eater," he said finally.

She considered him for a long moment and observed, for the first time, that the visible part of his chest was crossed with silvery scars. He saw the direction of her gaze and looked down at his lap.

"The Dark Lord was a cruel master," he said softly. She reached out and gently caressed the scars with her hand.

"I think they're beautiful," she said quietly. His eyes met hers in a heated glance. Hermione wiggled over until she was sitting in his lap, her hands unfastening the rest of his buttons as fast as she could manage. Severus caught her mouth in his in a searing kiss as his hands ventured to cup the smooth skin of her back. She slid the shirt off his shoulders and he obligingly yanked the sleeves over his wrists.

 _He's covered in scars_ , she thought in horror.

Hearing her thoughts, he withdrew and regarded her coolly, "I'm sorry they offend you."

She shook her head rapidly, "I can't believe they did that to you. It's horrifying." She pulled him closer and nestled her head in his shoulder. He said nothing, choosing instead to return his hands to her back, massaging it slowly and reassuringly. She snaked her own arms around his torso, pressing her breasts into his chest.

She could feel his sharp intake of breath and raised her head for a kiss. He responded warmly, pressing her back on the pillows. Above her, his eyes glittered dangerously. His hands ran their way down her torso and over her thighs. With the slightest provocation, they fell apart.

"You've seen everything on me, and I haven't even seen you without your trousers!" She protested. He licked his lips and sat back on his heels.

"Remove them, then," he said. His voice sounded almost mocking.

She reached up and unfastened them, yanking the sleek black trousers down with no ceremony.

Silk emerald boxers? He would never cease to surprise her. She yanked them down too and gasped faintly.

His penis looked massive to her untrained eye. Traveling with Ron and Harry, she had accidentally caught glimpses of them masturbating when they thought the other two were sleeping. They were practically miniscule compared to Severus.

"Merlin!" She breathed. He smirked. Taking advantage of her silence, he took the opportunity to pull the lot down, tossing them off the edge of the bed. He was as naked as she was.

It was _glorious_.

Their hands were all over each other. His skin was so soft and smooth, she thought she could caress it for hours. Fortunately, he seemed amenable to the prospect. His mouth followed his hands, kissing his way down her torso and pausing briefly at the juncture between her thighs. Swiftly, he parted her legs and buried his face in her velvety-soft delta.

She clutched at his hair, arching into him.

" _Merlin_!" She gasped. He paused and looked up, his nose nuzzling her.

"It's generally frowned upon to call out another man's name during intercourse," he said silkily. She blinked at him, completely disoriented.

"Professor?"

"That will do nicely." Without further ceremony, he returned to his previous activity, his tongue skillfully manipulating her tender flesh, plunging in and around her delicate folds.

She released a series of almost-unearthly moans as she orgasmed and was grateful she stayed conscious throughout it. He looked up at her again, his eyes black between slitted eyes.

He slowly made his way to the head of the bed, propping his head up with hand.

"Well?"

"Incandescent," she finally said. He laughed and leaned over for a kiss. She swirled her tongue in his mouth, tasting her own juices on his lips. She wanted to return the favor and, wary of his eyes watching her, crept down to his torso. She had never used her mouth in such a way—it had always seemed like a profoundly unpleasant action, but it seemed incredibly exciting to do something of the sort to Severus. Fortunately, she thought, she had a vast theoretical knowledge garnered from her books.

Bending down, she slowly traced her tongue around the head, then up the shaft. She lapped at his penis like an ice cream cone, listening for verbal encouragement. There was none, but a quick glance at his face gave her all the acknowledgement she needed. She absorbed more of it in her mouth, sucking gently. Finally, he emitted a noise. Pleasure? Hopefully.

She continued licking and sucking, his hands grasping at her hair. His breath grew faster and more labored.

"Cease!" He grunted in a guttural tone. She raised her head in surprise. He yanked his cock in his hand and redirected it away from her face as he came, the creamy white fluid spurting over his thigh and her hand. He looked down at the mess with a wry smile.

"Such a mess," he muttered. Severus rose and went into the bathroom. She could hear him rummaging around and the sound of running water. Hermione looked down at her semen-covered hand awkwardly. He returned, his thigh completely clean. Clambering back onto the bed, he grasped her hand in his own and, using a warm, wet cloth, gently massaged the fluid off her skin. He tossed the cloth onto the pile of clothes on the floor.

She snuggled in next to him and relaxed into the silk sheets and his body heat. Their arms wrapped each other, they drifted to sleep to the sound of the crackling fire.

The last thing Hermione thought as she drifted off was that, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a smug Myrtle peering around the bathroom's doorway.


	13. Chapter 13

Note: This chapter is remarkably less smutty than the last one. As usual, if you recognize something, it came from Rowling. Thank you all for the follows and lovely comments. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

"Are you sure you don't want to come to the Burrow for the holiday?" Ginny asked. Her brows knitted together in concern. Hermione shook her head and forced a smile.

"No, I'll be fine here. It would be awkward with Ron and…" she trailed off with a vague shrug. Ginny smiled uncomfortably. Both remembered well how Mrs. Weasley had acted toward Hermione after she thought Hermione had ditched Harry in their fourth year. Her welcome at the Burrow would be definitely be chilly.

"But there's no one here. You'd have to spend Christmas alone," Ginny protested.

"That's fine. I'll get a head start on my studying for the NEWT exams. They're only a few weeks away, you know!" Hermione grinned cheekily and Ginny smiled in amused defeat.

"I'll be sure to have Pig bring your gifts then," she waved and headed toward the massive doors in the Hall.

Likewise, Hermione wandered off toward the library. She had told Madame Pince she was writing a paper on marriage rituals of the early wizarding community in Britain. Contrary to her ferocious reputation, Pince was a surprisingly agreeable woman when one followed the rules. As one of the few students who used the library for its intended purpose, Hermione had quickly become one of the few students Pince could genuinely tolerate with any amount of real sentiment. Hermione had struck up a relationship with her based on their mutual love of libraries. In her fifth year, Pince had even implied Hermione would have a position as assistant librarian waiting for her after graduation if she was so inclined. Despite her fondness for books, she was more interested in a practical application of her favorite subjects for a future career.

Hermione approached Pince's desk with an apprehensive smile.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" Pince exclaimed in a loud whisper, "Follow me." She rose and, smoothing down her robes, went into her office. Once inside, she rested a hand on a massive stack of books.

"These were all the books I found involving rituals in the Hogwarts library," she said in her normal voice. Hermione was astonished at the size of the stack.

"How thoughtful! It must have taken you hours to find all those books." Madame Pince shook her head with a pleased smile, "not at all. Two years ago, I spent the summer in a Muggle library, working as an assistant. Wanted to know what they were up to, you know. Get my hands on the new novels and so on. While I was there, I discovered the most marvelous technology—they use these…computer things to search for books using specific words. What a timesaver! Ever since, I've been working on a spell that would allow me to summon books on certain topics. The spell summons all books with particular words, and once I have all of them, I'm able to sift through the indexes for all the relevant texts. It's made everything much faster."

Hermione was astonished. If only Arthur Weasley were in a position to spend so much time around Muggles! She stepped forward and began to investigate the titles.

"Are all of these books available to be removed from the library?" She asked. Pince nodded.

"Just be careful with them," she cautioned, "some are over three hundred years old. They'd be immensely difficult to replace."

Hermione nodded appreciatively. She cast the Levicorpus spell silently and hovered the enormous stack over the desk.

"Thank you so much for your assistance!" She called as she walked out, the books bobbing behind her.

Hermione spent the rest of the day curled up in the Gryffindor common room with the books spread around her. By dinner time, she had taken twelve parchments of notes. Bursting with triumph, she stuffed her notes in her robe pockets and headed to the Great Hall.

The Hall was nearly deserted. In the spirit of the holidays—and because there were fewer than ten students staying—there was only the High Table for the professors and a single one for the students. She seated herself at the center of the table. Everyone was clearly far younger than her—two sullen Hufflepuffs, a timid looking Slytherin, four Ravenclaws in a huddle, and a tiny Gryffindor. She noticed with a pang how strong a resemblance the child bore to Colin Creevey and wondered if he was a relative to the deceased student.

No one was particularly interested in conversation over the meal; as a consequence, they all dined in silence. Hermione cast several surreptitious glances at the High Table, but Severus was no where to be found. She told herself resolutely that she would visit his dungeon after dinner to share her discoveries.

She ate quickly, scarfing down roast potatoes, chicken, and steamed vegetables with alarming alacrity. From the High Table, Professor Dracula watched on in interest. Her pale eyes followed the student from the room as Hermione left for the dungeon.

She knocked firmly at the door.

No answer.

Had he left?

She waited for a long moment before knocking again. Before her hand fell back to her side, the door opened and a flustered Snape thrust open the door.

"Yes?" He seemed irritated.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I can come back at another time, if now is inconvenient."

She waited, watching him warily. His expression softened.

"Of course not. Come in." He stood out of the way to allow her to pass. Her nostrils were immediately assaulted by a foul odor.

"Are you…brewing something?" She asked, covering her nose. He smiled grimly.

"Occasionally, St. Mungo's requests particularly complicated potions from me. Prior to the war, there were but five masters of the art of Potion-making; now, however, there is only myself. I'll be obligated to take an apprentice soon, I'm sure," his lip curled. She paused for a moment.

"I've been doing some research on the binding spell," she said finally. She drew out her notes and awkwardly held them in her sweaty fist.

"And?" He looked immensely curious. She swallowed hard.

"There have only been three documented cases of an incomplete binding," her hands were shaking. He frowned in concern and gestured toward a stool.

"In all three cases, the incomplete bind resulted in a loss of magic and eventual death on the part of the binder. All three bindees became nearly three times as powerful as before."

She looked down and saw, with some surprise, that her nervously sweaty fist had smeared the blue ink on the papers.

"How much time do we have before…that happens?" He asked softly.

"As little as five months or as much as a year and a half. None made it past two years. The process is relatively rapid."

He nodded, his expression ambiguous. The prospect of tripled power was a seductive one, she thought to herself, but surely Severus would not sacrifice her for his own glory? Despite their newfound intimacy, she truly knew very little about the man. He had been a Death Eater voluntarily as a young man—perhaps he still harbored dark fantasies and was interested in the pursuit of power and glory as Voldemort had been.

He seemed lost in his own thoughts as she considered him. He noticed her watching him cautiously and smiled.

"You can't think I'd just let you perish, hm?"

She looked away, "I don't know what you'd do."

His expression darkened, "You must have a very low opinion of me if you believe I'd sacrifice you for my own gains?"

She shook her head, "I suppose not. Still, what am I to do? I'll die soon and there doesn't seem to be a way to stop it."

He looked at her for what seemed like an eternity.

"You need a cup of tea," Without another word, he swished into his office. She frowned at him. 'Tea' almost seemed to be a code word for physical intimacy, and as much she usually relished the idea of his pale hands smoothing their way down her naked body, the thought of fooling around when her death loomed seemed unappealing.

Nevertheless, she followed him into the office and perched on the edge of the sofa. She had watched him prepare tea multiple times now, and every time she found it incredibly alluring.

"Now," he said as he swung the kettle over the fire, "what are we to do about you?"

He sat next to her on the sofa and placed a reassuring arm around her shoulders. She rested her head on his shoulder and inhaled deeply. His fragrance was intoxicating and supremely soothing.

"None of the books had anything like a cure. It would seem the only solutions are for you to bind yourself to me, or for you to die."

"What a myriad of excellent options," he said dryly. His hands stroked her hair, "it seems we have two legitimate routes: either we find a way to break the bind without my death, or I bind myself to you."

She stared at the fire. Would it be so terrible for her and Severus to be bound together? He bestirred himself to add the water to the teapot before returning to his perch.

"What about your potion?" He smirked at her obvious attempt to change the subject.

"It will be fine. It needs to rest for three days. Until then, I'll be enjoying the luxurious aroma of bat dung and frog spleen." They both laughed.

"Whatever happened to those Occlumency lessons?" She asked finally. She heard him chuckle deep in his throat.

"Do you want to try it now?" Hermione nodded vigorously and he turned to face her.

"I want you to try to close off your mind. Try to empty it of all thoughts."

She grimaced at him, "All thoughts? Nothing at all?"

He sighed irritably, "For your first lesson, try to concentrate on a single thing. Something innocuous. A cloud, perhaps, or a fire."

She closed her eyes and mused intently. Unbidden, an image of Snape's enormous black cauldron popped into her mind. She decided to concentrate on it.

"Continue to think of the cauldron," he said in a quiet tone. She focused on it more intensely, concentrating on its sinuous curves, the steam always curling out of it, the gleam of the metal in the dim light. Suddenly she felt a pounding in her head. The sensation was a bizarre one—as if she was trying to keep a door closed while he shoved against it with his entire body weight. She resisted as firmly as she could, focusing more intently on the cauldron.

The pressure in her head relented and she opened her eyes, panting slightly from the effort.

"Good first try. Again." With almost no notice, he was back in her head. This time she concentrated on the teapot, memorizing the serpent handle and the pattern on the side. The pressure intensified and she pushed back with her mind. She heard him gasp faintly and suddenly she was in his head.

 _She saw herself on the night of the battle, her face streaked with mud. Her eyes were wide and panicked. She looked into her own eyes and felt the white hot pain streak through her arm. A sensation filled her, as if her blood had been carbonated. The air seemed to lose its density and she felt as though she could rise through the air and glide over the Forest. Above her, her own face was illuminated by an unearthly glow._

 _She felt herself arguing passionately with McGonagall over the prospect of gaining an assistance and finally throwing out a name begrudgingly. Miss Granger. She watched the other professor's mouth open slightly in astonishment before agreeing. She was surprised at how pleased she was._

 _She saw herself at the Gryffindor table on the first of September, her bushy hair all astray, creases on her face, and her skin glowing from excitement at the prospect of another year of classes. An unexpected warmth suffused her body and she realized why Severus had been staring at her throughout the meal._

 _She watched herself in his dungeon, scrubbing the walls. Asleep at the desk. Blood dripping down her arm as she argued with him defiantly._

Severus finally succeeded at pushing her from his mind and she fell backwards on the sofa, her eyes closed.

"That was a marked improvement," he said, his voice strained. She nodded and said nothing. He pressed a cup of tea into her cold hand.

"That will be all for that lesson," he said softly. She opened her eyes and looked at him thoughtfully. It had been incredibly strange to see herself from his perspective. He returned her gaze.

He extended a welcoming arm to her and she gratefully curled up next to him, her head resting on his shoulder. He did not attempt to touch her or otherwise instigate a sexual encounter. They passed the rest of the evening in companionable near-silence. When she left, he placed a tender kiss to her forehead before relinquishing her to the frigid hallway.

Once in bed, she wrapped herself like a burrito in the soft blankets and wished fervently she stayed the night with him.


	14. Chapter 14

Note: This is an unusually short chapter. Sorry! As usual, if you recognize it, it came from Rowling. Thank you all for the comments, follows, and faves. You're the best!

The little owl landed with a soft _phwop_ on the wooden table. Hermione eyed the small bird suspiciously over her porridge. It hooted at her disdainfully and leaned over her bowl as if it was about to stick its beak into her breakfast. With a grunt she batted its face away and snatched the small note from its leg.

 _Come to my classroom at eleven. I need assistance. –S_

How formal, she thought with an inward grin. She looked up at the High Table. Snape was deep in conversation with McGonagall, his own meal left to grow cold. As if he sensed her staring—and she was sure he did—he looked across the hall at her and gave her an enigmatic smile. McGonagall followed his gaze and, seeing it land on the student, frowned deeply. A knot formed in the pit of Hermione's stomach. Surely the headmistress didn't suspect anything? They had been extremely circumspect, particularly regarding their inadvertent bond.

She could still feel someone staring at her. She looked back at Snape, who had already returned to his conversation with the Transfiguration professor. Her eyes coasted along the table before landing on Professor Dracula, who gave her a cold smile. There was something even more unsettling about her smile than usual. A chill passed through her as she returned to her breakfast.

Once finished, she returned to Gryffindor Tower. She had over two and a half hours to pass before she went to his dungeon. She spent nearly two hours poring over the books Madame Pince had given her. To her immense dismay, there was nothing to reassure her. None were particularly substantial, and what little information they provided was dismal.

Her spirits dampened, she made the long trek down to the dungeons. She gave the door a quick rap and waited impatiently. Did he want her to do actual work, or was it for more… physical purposes?

The door opened and she was greeted with his sour expression. He seemed greatly annoyed.

"Come," he said shortly, holding the door open for her. Silently she passed through the opening and stood awkwardly in the dim light. He closed the door softly and turned to face her.

"Is something wrong?" She asked. Hermione folded her hands behind her back in an attempt to calm her jittery fidgeting. It didn't work. Severus sighed noisily and ran a hand through his hair. It looked greasier than usual—didn't the man ever have a proper wash? Her mind drifted to a previous fantasy in which she sat in his lap, massaging scented shampoo into his head while he—

Cleared his throat. He gave her a significant glance and the tension in the room eased somewhat.

"It would appear that Professor Dracula has some… concerns about you being my assistant and has gone to McGonagall about them."

Hermione held her breath. Was she being fired? Was he being investigated?

He smiled wryly, "She was told under no uncertain circumstances that such a thing was impossible, that we had an… acrimonious relationship at best."

She exhaled with a sharp, barking laugh.

"Excellent. Is that why you wanted me to come down here?"

"No, actually," he paused and looked at her musingly, "I need you to assist me with a potion I'm making for St. Mungo's."

"Not the one with the bat dung, I hope," She wrinkled her nose.

"No," he chuckled, "That one is doing fine. No, this one is more complicated and works best with two people."

He strode purposefully to his storeroom and returned with a tattered and dusty volume. The gold letters were peeling so intensely that she couldn't read the title. He gingerly turned the pages until he reached one that was so faded it could hardly be read.

"I'll need you to transcribe this. It's too faded to read easily and we absolutely cannot afford to make a mistake with this potion," He went to his desk and pulled out a roll of parchment and an ink pen. She raised an eyebrow.

"I have found Muggle writing utensils to be more effective than quills," he muttered, his face pink. She shook her head with a vague smile and said nothing, accepting the supplies. She sat down at one of the worn tables and began to read the recipe. It took less effort than she had thought it would, especially when she surreptitiously brightened the lights in the dim room. Utterly relaxed, she began to hum.

She wasn't sure how long he had been watching her, or even how long she had been humming to herself. She finally noticed him with a start.

"Is something amiss?" He shook his head.

"What were you humming?"

"Oh," she blushed, "it's an old song. I used to hear it on the radio around Christmas time. It's called 'Last Christmas.' It's about someone who wasted their love on someone undeserving who rejected it."

He nodded, "and I suppose this reminds you of young Weasley? Such a man does not deserve such emotions, I would think," he said softly.

She shrugged, "I had a thing for him when we were students. It's hard to get over someone so rapidly. Even when they're as ridiculous as Ronald."

He looked off in the distance with a troubled look on his face.

"Sometimes we waste our time on people who don't deserve it. Or who don't return our feelings. It's best to rid yourself of them as quickly as possible."

She watched him for a long moment before returning to her transcription. When finished, she stood and handed it to him with a flourish.

"There's not enough time to start the potion this afternoon."

Her eyebrows shot up, "Do you want me to leave, then?"

He shrugged, "if you want. You're more than welcome to stay, of course."

She flushed at his probing gaze, "If you want me to stay, I can."

His expression didn't change as he rose from behind the desk and came to stand in front of her. Severus loomed over her, his face enigmatic. Her breath short, she flung herself on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. His lips met hers rapidly, his tongue probing between her lips. He pushed her back onto the desk and she leaned into him eagerly, her legs entwined around his torso. His hand smoothed over her back before creeping beneath her sweater. As she felt his cool touch on her inflamed skin, there was a creak behind them.

Severus turned rapidly, almost unseating Hermione as she attempted to disentangle her limbs from his midsection. Professor Dracula leaned against the doorframe arrogantly, a sly smile flitting over her aristocratic features.

"I think the headmistress will be astounded with my revelation," she said softly, eyeing Severus with interest. Behind him, Hermione stirred uncomfortably.

"Obliviate!"


	15. Chapter 15

Note: Sorry about the delay! I hope the chapter is worth it. As always, if you recognize a place, thing, or character, it belongs to Rowling, not myself. Thank you for reading!

Dracula rolled her eyes and dodged the spell.

"You'll have to do better than that, little girl," she smirked. Beside her, Hermione felt Severus stiffen.

"None of this is any of your business, Ardentia," he said quietly. She laughed, a delicate tinkling sound that filled the space awkwardly.

"Oh, but it is. I have your secret and you have mine. You're safe as long as you keep your mouth shut," her eyes drifted lazily over to Hermione, who was still flushed and breathless. She gripped the desk tighter, her sweaty palms clutching the wood for dear life. Her words burst forth uncontrollably.

"Ridiculous. At least we're not hurting anyone!" The professor narrowed her eyes at the student.

"I'd be careful if I were you, girl. You're not particularly popular among Severus's old friends. One wrong step and—" she snapped her fingers menacingly.

"You're not to threaten students in my dungeon," Severus stepped forward. Dracula's smile faltered.

"I think you'll find that I can do whatever I want, Severus." Again she snapped her fingers, vanishing into thin air.

Hermione shivered, " _Hogwarts, A History_ says no one can apparate or disapparate in the castle. How was she able to do that?"

He shook his head in disgust, "She's not human. Not all of our laws apply to her. She can't enter or exit the castle like that, but she's free to move within however she pleases. One of the perks of being a monster, I suppose."

His use of the word "monster" made her pause. Now was _definitely_ not the time to go on a rant about the mistreatment of magical creatures.

He smirked at her and she could tell he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"I no longer use such a word to describe your beloved Lupin," he said, his lip curling, "nor do I apply it to those who were our allies in the war. She's a different matter though."

She smiled vaguely. _Understandable, I suppose_. Hermione shifted awkwardly on the hard table and wondered whether she should leave or stay. His expression darkened and with a flick of his wrist, he padlocked the door to the hall shut.

"Where were we?" He asked silkily. She flushed and gripped the wood again, her knees rubbing against each other in anticipation.

"I don't quite remember. Perhaps you'll have to remind me," she replied slyly. She blinked up at him with an innocent expression. He stepped forward and ran a long pale finger up the skin of her thigh, his expression unreadable. She shivered at the contact.

With no warning, he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. Who knew Snape was so strong? With his left hand, he held her legs in place, his right hand caressing her soft skin as he made his way to the bedroom.

He deposited her on the bed with an unceremonious drop and she scrambled to right herself.

"What are you going to do to me?" She asked breathlessly. He smiled coldly, unfastening his cloak and said nothing. He threw it onto a nearby chair. Severus looked at her for a long moment and, with barely a blink, vanished her clothes.

Startled, she looked up at him. His expression was still mysterious, his eyes hooded in shadow. Hermione crept over to him and began to unfasten his buttons. He made no move to resist her advances. She paused at the bottom.

"Two can play at that game," she said softly. Mentally, she vanished his clothes as well so he was standing naked in front of her. Was he startled? She couldn't tell. She rose to kneel in front of him, touching her nose to his.

With a low growl, he wrapped his arms around her and threw himself on the bed with her. She raised her lips to his and kissed him, their hands moving frantically over each other's bodies. His fingers crept between her thighs. She shivered as they pried her flesh apart, massaging, stroking, and diving. When he removed his hand, it was gleaming. He smiled and said nothing. She flushed.

"I want you," she said softly. Severus blanched.

"Do you know what you're asking for?" He asked quietly. She nodded and slid her hand down his steely length.

"I want you so much I can barely breathe," she said in his ear, "I want you, I want this," she gripped it a little tighter and he groaned softly.

"Now, _please_ ," she was shocked to her that her voice held a hint of desperation. Her own craving for him had startled her. She had dreamed of him at night, of him making love to her in his massive bed, in the prefect's bath (away from Myrtle's prying eyes, somehow), in his classroom, and in the grassy hills surrounding the castle. In short, her body physically ached for him and she was impatient for him to relieve her of the pain.

"If you wish," he said quietly. She looked into his eyes and observed that he looked as hungry for her as she was for him. He knelt over her, spreading her legs wide. He massaged the tip of his organ against her sensitive flesh and she writhed against it. He positioned himself at her opening and lowered his body so that their faces were nearly touching. He grasped her face in his hands and kissed her roughly as he thrust in, shattering her barrier. His lips absorbed her initial startled cry.

Firmly planted within her body, he raised himself to his elbows.

"Are you…okay?" He asked awkwardly. She bit her lip.

"I'm not sure. It still hurts." He paused for a moment and grasped her hand, leading it to the slick place where their bodies were joined.

"Feel," She explored cautiously, massaging the tender skin around them. Her fingers reached a particularly sensitive spot and she gasped, arching her body into him.

"That's my girl," he said thickly and began to thrust, gently, this time. The first flush of pain faded, replaced by a maddening pleasure. At his urging, she wrapped her legs around his torso, encouraging him with her moans to go faster, deeper. Her skin felt hot, as though she were on fire. She arched deeply as the pleasure overwhelmed her and she lay still for a moment.

He still wasn't done. He paused for a moment and reached down, his fingers teasing the raw flesh. She gasped a little. Severus smiled slyly and said nothing.

"More?" She asked in a quavering voice. His grin faded.

"Forgive me. I should have been more considerate of your…tender state." He said softly. She shook her head, "No, that's not it. It doesn't hurt anymore. I would be happy to…satisfy your desires." His beam returned and without notice, he flipped her so that she was straddling him. She looked at him with vague confusion. She knew the mechanics of it, of course—she wasn't an imbecile and frankly, sex was hardly as complicated as her last Potions lesson—but she was unsure of how to do it…properly. The way he was used to women doing it.

He understood her confusion and grasped her hips, "Like you're riding a horse," he murmured encouragingly.

She had only ridden horses three times in her life, but it was, at the very least, something she had experience with. Hermione tightened her thighs around his and began to move slowly.

"Yesss," he hissed, watching her through slitted eyes. At his encouragement, she moved faster and again felt the hot sweetness coursing through her veins. His hands grasped her soft skin more firmly and she could feel him pulsing within her. With a gasp, he pushed her off, fiery ribbons of white cream shooting from his throbbing member, landing on her legs and scattering on the silky bed sheets.

She watched in silent amazement as he gasped and swore his way through an orgasm. He felt her stare and looked up, a grimacing smile gracing his features. She felt an odd tenderness rush through her as she gazed at him—sweaty, breathless, vulnerable, and smeared with bodily fluids.

"I'll, um….be back in a minute," he muttered, awkwardly trudging to the adjoining bathroom. As he gingerly walked away, she silently vanished the fluids staining the sheets. If nothing else, they'd be dry when he returned. She heard water rushing and saw curls of steam drift lazily from the bathroom. Severus popped his head through the doorway, looking thoroughly cheerful.

"Bath?" She grinned and hopped out of the bed, wincing slightly as she stood up. She was more sore than she had thought. He pressed his lips together in silent disapproval, looking almost as foreboding as he had when she was a young student.

"You should have told me you were in pain, Miss Granger," he said softly. She shrugged.

"I was having too much fun. Besides, it's a good kind of pain," she said cheekily. She brushed past him. _Slap!_ She turned sharply.

"Did you just…slap me on the ass?" She demanded. He snickered and picked her up.

"Are you complaining?" She nestled her head into the crook of his neck.

"I'm not sure. It was…surprisingly pleasant." He gently lowered her in the bath and clambered in behind her, wrapping his arms around her torso. She leaned in, luxuriating in the hot water and bubbles.

"Do you always put bubbles in your bathwater?" She asked lazily. He nuzzled the top of her head with his protruding nose.

"Only when annoying Gryffindor seventh years deign to share it with me," he replied. His excitement at the shared bath was palpable.

"Then I should join you more often. You've been missing out."

He nodded into her hair, saying nothing.

Slowly, gently, he washed her, gently caressing her body with a sea sponge fragrant with sandalwood scented soap. She responded in kind, exploring his body with her frothy fingers, lingering over his scars and faded wounds.

When they were finished washing one another, they took turns drying each other. Again he carried her through the tall wooden door, laying her gently in the bed. As she fell asleep, a sense of contentment—the strongest she had felt since her third year—rushed over her.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: My hiatus was about four times as long as I expected it to be. Whoops! Thank you to those of you who have stuck it out with me. Your comments and follows are the inspiration to continue. Without them, I would probably think no one was reading and quit!

When Hermione awoke the next morning, it was to an empty bed and a frigid bedroom. Feeling vaguely panicked, she hastily dressed and poked her head into Snape's office. He was hunched over his desk, his gleaming hair dangling in his face and his massive nose nearly touching the pages of his book.

She leaned against the doorframe for a long moment, watching him read. He was utterly absorbed in his research. Even his tea cup, perched precariously on a stack of dusty books, looked neglected. She cleared her throat softly.

He looked up, his harsh features softening immediately.

"I didn't want to disturb you," he gestured at the pile in front of him. She shook her head.

"You didn't. I woke of my own accord. How long have you been in here?"

He squinted up at the clock on the mantel.

"Nearly two hours, I suppose," he gently inserted a finger into the tea and grimaced, "just as I thought."

He carried his teacup over to over to the fireplace and poured it—as well as the contents of the teapot—back into the kettle. He seated himself on the sofa, swung the kettle into the fire and paused momentarily, gazing into the flames thoughtfully.

"We have a serious problem,"

Hermione crossed over the floor rapidly and sat next to him on the sofa.

"Do you mean… last night?"

He chuckled, "I should probably say yes to that. After all, I'm a professor having sex with his student. That's probably violating a hundred school rules at once. Out of bed after hours, immoral activity with someone whose GPA I influence…" he trailed off.

"Well, technically," Hermione said after a brief moment, "I wasn't out of bed after hours. I was _in_ bed. Just not my own." He turned to look at her.

"Semantics worthy of an attorney. I applaud you," he responded sarcastically. She flushed.

"Just a thought. Anyway, what was the problem you referenced? Professor Dracula?"

He nodded silently.

"We have to find a way to get rid of her. Is there no way we could…catch her in the act with McGonagall in tow? They'd have to sack her if they knew it was her mutilating students."

Severus tilted his head, still looking at the flames.

"I'm not sure. Honestly, I'm more concerned that they'd sack me too if they knew I knew who was doing it."

"Why didn't you say something before the term began?"

He shrugged, "It was as much of a surprise to me as it was to anybody. I was recuperating at St. Mungo's for the majority of the holiday. When I arrived at the school on September first, I found her at the table. I broached concerns with the headmistress and she brushed them off. Said Dracula was a reformed Death Eater and that I ought to be more… open-minded, especially considering my own history. Then I considered… Dumbledore hired Lupin, knowing he was a werewolf. Why would McGonagall not hire a vampire?"

Hermione nodded slowly, "but she hadn't confessed to McGonagall after all. And she's definitely not reformed. She's still faithful to Voldemort, I'm sure."

"No one would suspect her and I doubt anyone would believe me if I were to tell. And now there's the matter of you and me…" he turned to face her, taking one of her hands in his.

"And that would be the end of that. You're still a student, after all, and I'd be sacked. They'd bring Slughorn out of retirement for the remainder of the term, I suppose."

She gripped his fingers in her own, "We can't let that happen. Slughorn's a marvelous professor, but you have a certain… _je ne sais quoi_."

He grinned. Why hadn't she ever noticed how nice his teeth were? Probably because he rarely smiled around students.

"Glad to hear it,"

"So," she said in a businesslike manner, "how to catch a vampire. We'll need the cooperation of a young man. Legally an adult of course. My first thoughts are Harry and Ron, but they're gone. Neville, perhaps," she mused. Severus's smile broadened.

"She'd never go for Neville. I think a Slytherin is the best option. Draco would be my first choice."

" _Draco_?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Of course," he responded smoothly, "he's my godson and I'm sure he'd love to do a favor for me after I submitted to Veritaserum—in the hospital, no less—to help the Malfoy family over the summer. Furthermore, I'm sure he'd enjoy the reputation he'd gain for 'seducing a professor.'" His mouth twisted in a grimace at the thought.

"Still, Draco…" she murmured sullenly. He moved his hand from hers to pull the tea from the fire.

"He's changed."

She snorted. He turned back to her with a serious expression.

"I'm serious. Draco has changed considerably since he was last a student here. His experience in the war has utterly transformed him. Just as it did the rest of us." He gave her a significant look and turned back to the reheated tea.

She looked down at her lap for a moment. He nudged her and handed her a cup of tea.

"Drink up. Do something with your hair and I'll contact him. Tell him to come down and have a talk with me."

She set her tea aside and raised her hands tentatively to her hair.

"What's wrong with it?"

He smirked.

"You look like you've been fucked, and well."

She turned scarlet and raced into the bathroom. He was right. It was completely disheveled, hanging in twists and knots all over her shoulders. She rummaged through the cabinet draws. Didn't the man ever brush his hair? There was no way it hung so straight and lanky without assistance. Frustrated, she yanked open the cabinet and saw three bottles of Sleekeazy's. Was he making his hair look so oily on purpose? She'd have to have a word with him about that. Nevertheless, she glopped a dollop in her own frizzy mane and attempted to finger comb it into submission. Nearly ten minutes later, she was practically in tears.

Annoyed, she yanked the elastic from her wrist and gathered the bushy mess into a semi-presentable top knot. Reasonably satisfied, she returned to the sitting room. Inside, Draco perched awkwardly on the sofa.

"Granger," he nodded abruptly. She raised her eyebrows, lips pursed.

"Malfoy."

"Simmer down, children," Severus interjected smoothly. He sat on the opposite side of the sofa from Draco. Despite his previous assurances, there appeared to be tension between the pair.

"We have a favor to ask, Draco," he began. The young man gripped his hands tightly in his lap. Hermione noticed the nearly imperceptible quiver.

"What would be the nature of this… favor?" He asked warily. She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, as she watched him. Was it possible Severus was right? Draco had undergone a lot under Voldemort's brief reign, after all.

"Nothing you'd object to, I'm sure. That is, if the rumors of your prowess with the witches are to be believed." Severus watched his godson carefully.

Draco flushed scarlet, "I'm sure whatever you've heard has been…exaggerated to an unbelievable extent. I'm no more popular with the ladies than I ever was."

Severus said nothing. The tension between the two was palpable.

"Regardless of your denials, this is a task I'm sure you'll find enjoyable. We—Miss Granger and I, that is—will need you to seduce your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Draco's pale eyebrows skyrocketed, "Professor Dracula?" He exclaimed. Severus nodded wordlessly.

"Why? Why would you want me to seduce one of your colleagues?"

The professor set his teacup aside and prepared to explain.

"We have reason to believe she's the one behind the attacks on the male students," Hermione said firmly. Both men turned to look at her.

"So I'm supposed to meet her and potentially get mutilated? That's an awfully big favor. I thought I was clear in wanting to avoid dangerous situations in the future?"

His godfather nodded slowly, "You're the only man for the job, Draco. It has to be someone we trust. Someone who has experience handling dangerous situations with a certain finesse and…" he paused, searching for the right words to coerce the teenager, "aristocratic grace, if you will."

Draco's back straightened as he stared at Severus.

"You're flattering me so I'll do what you want. You must forget how accustomed I am to that now," he said baldly. It was Severus's turn to flush.

"It's not flattery. You really are the only one I can trust. Miss Granger has inordinate confidence in Longbottom, but—"

"Longbottom? That sniveling idiot?" Draco turned to face Hermione.

"That sniveling idiot led the D.A. for an entire school year while you hid away in Malfoy Manor. He sacrificed his education for months while he trained students to fight in the Battle of Hogwarts. Or don't you remember?" She shot back.

He had the good grace to look vaguely ashamed of himself and settled back in his seat.

"Still. I don't think he'd be the man for the job. He's too… Gryffindor for it. If you know what I mean," he responded carelessly. The edges of Snape's mouth turned up faintly.

"I know precisely what you mean. It would take a Slytherin to do it properly. And who else but you? Think of all the points you'd win in the process."

Draco shrugged, "I don't care about house points anymore. The whole thing seems rather useless after… everything. Still, if I'm the only one who can do it, I will. So, what's the catch? What danger am I in?"

Severus and Hermione exchanged a look.

"You might be…castrated. Completely," she said tentatively. His jaw dropped.

"I could potentially lose my…second favorite wand to _her_?"

"Potentially. But erm, for the plan to work… we'd have to walk in on you. With Professor McGonagall," she finished lamely.

"And have all of you see me in all my glory? This plan is sounding worse by the minute."

"Still, you're the only one who can do it. Don't you want to save the student body? You could be the new Potter." Snape's mouth twisted as Draco appeared to contemplate the possibility.

"It would be nice to get some credit for something positive," he mused. He was quiet for a minute, his blue eyes glittering as he stared into the flames, "All right, I'll do it."

"Excellent," Severus stood, "How about tomorrow?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading, all! Thank you bunches for your comments, faves, and follows. They always bring a massive smile to my face. Everything you recognize is the property of J.K. Rowling.**

Hermione followed Severus and Professor McGonagall down the corridor with a sense of foreboding. The castle seemed unusually quiet, their steps echoing through the hallway. Surprisingly, she had never been to this part of the castle. During her escapades with Ron and Harry, she had thought they'd covered every square inch of the castle not occupied by students or faculty; however, she had not even been aware of the tower they had just approached.

Severus turned and raised a finger to his lips at his companions. He glided up the stairs, clearly well-used to sneaking about silently. McGonagall and Hermione's steps sounded thunderous in the vast emptiness of the staircase. Reaching the top of the stairs, he took a deep breath and, with a mighty shove, opened the dusty wooden door at the top.

Hermione felt, rather than heard, McGonagall's stifled gasp.

Before them were the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and Draco Malfoy, completely nude before a raging fire. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of wine and a popular aphrodisiac potion sold by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Hermione averted her eyes from the lewd scene in front of the trio and glared balefully at the bottle on the floor instead.

"Headmistress!" Ardentia gasped, attempting to cover herself with one of the many items of discarded clothing on the floor. Hermione snuck a peek at Draco who, she noticed with an inwardly wry smile, did not look nearly as ashamed as someone in his position ought. Instead, he seemed almost pleased with himself.

"The source of our attacks," Severus whispered quietly in McGonagall's ear. He gestured subtly at the professor. Indeed, no one could avoid noticing that where the average woman possessed certain characteristics between her legs, there appeared instead to be a human mouth, complete with fangs.

McGonagall staggered backwards. She might have fallen down the twining stairway had Hermione not unthinkingly reached out and grasped the older woman.

"What… _are_ you?" She gasped, her hand clutching at her robes. The nude woman clenched her thighs together and gazed at the trio indignantly.

"I'm a vampire, if you must know. You should have guessed, by my last name,"

"I didn't want to… stereotype," McGonagall said finally. The now-former professor gave a short, barking laugh.

"All of his descendants share a certain… lust for human flesh. For a very few of us, this desire is expressed sexually. I happen to be one, as Severus here can attest."

Severus blanched as the headmistress turned to look at him.

"Severus, you knew? And you didn't say anything?" She looked betrayed, the lines on her face seeming more pronounced.

"If you will recall, I raised some concerns when she was initially hired. You told me to be more open minded," he turned his steely gaze on his employer. It was McGonagall's turn to pale.

"So you did," She murmured. She leaned against the doorframe, defeated.

"I am not the only one who has entered into a relationship with a student," Ardentia said desperately. McGonagall followed her stare to the Potions professor and his assistant.

Hermione didn't know what to say.

Fortunately, the headmistress's common sense was still firmly in place.

"Nonsense," she said firmly, "I happen to know that Professor Snape and Miss Granger have a generally acrimonious relationship. While they may have softened in their regard toward each other through close proximity, I feel confident there is nothing untoward in their attitudes regarding one another,"

Worse than being caught in her deception, Hermione was overwhelmed with guilt. McGonagall was so confident in her star pupil—and one of her coworkers—that didn't even consider that Ardentia might be correct. She cast a sideways look at Snape beneath her lashes. His face was as smooth and unperturbed as usual, but she could sense currents of unease beneath his calm.

"I will hear nothing more said about my students or my employees," she said, looking hard at the former professor, "as I said a few moments ago, you will be out of the castle by sundown. Mr. Filch will escort you to Hogsmeade at his convenience. Mr. Malfoy," Draco's smirk vanished as she set her steely gaze on him, "100 points from Slytherin and detention until Easter for your poor judgment and misbehavior. While she was clearly in a position of power and therefore held much of the blame, you are an adult and we expect you to behave as such. I bid you all a good evening,"

She turned and disappeared down the stairs in a cloud of dismay and annoyance.

Hermione and Severus turned their attention back to the scene in front of them.

"Well, you got your way. I've been turned out and without a reference too." Ardentia scowled at them from the floor. Behind her, Draco was scuttling quietly around the room, gathering his clothes as quickly as he could manage.

"Idiot boy," she muttered. With a twitch of her nose and a wave of her majestic hand, she gathered her own clothing neatly in a pile.

"You're very lucky the headmistress didn't believe me, or you'd be traipsing out to Hogsmeade with me this afternoon," she said slyly to Severus. Draco paused, his eyes swinging wildly from his classmate to his godfather.

Severus shook his head, "no one with any sense would believe you. Miss Granger is my assistant out of necessity, not desire," he stared at her, his black eyes unfathomable.

"Quite," Hermione said said shortly. It would not do to make a fuss about their relationship at this point—what _was_ their relationship, anyway?—but she expected that, at some point, things would become known to the public.

Draco was still staring at the two of them with a confused look on his face. She gave him a warning look and hoped his memories of third year remained with him. Evidently he did, for his mouth stayed tightly shut.

Their mission accomplished, Hermione and Severus traipsed down to his dungeon. The door closed behind them with an overwhelming sense of finality.

"What will Hogwarts do without a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" Hermione asked, leaning against a table. Severus shrugged.

"They'll have to find someone to fill in midway through the year. An Auror, probably. It's been done before. It's a complete pain in the arse to get someone on such short notice, but at least they'll have a week or two to figure out their lesson plans for the rest of the term."

"Mm," she said thoughtfully, "Perhaps Harry could do it? He's done it in the past, after all."

"Potter?" Severus snorted, "Ridiculous. Having to teach his girlfriend would be a catastrophe."

"Except that he has done it before. And how is him teaching Ginny any different than you teaching me?" She challenged him, her arms crossed over her chest. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Hardly a fair comparison. Miss Weasley is hardly the student you are. Your perfect marks are a result of your hard work and innate skill at Potions. Her talents clearly lie elsewhere," he finished lamely.

She rolled her eyes, "I see. Speaking of students," she changed the subject abruptly, "I didn't realize Draco was staying at the castle for the holiday. I hadn't seen him at meals."

"He didn't stay for most of it. He's only been back three days. Left Malfoy Manor early, won't say why. Lucius and Narcissa are being quite close lipped as well. He's probably still protesting an arranged relationship with Miss Greengrass," He rested his hip on his desk as he spoke, his arms crossed in a mirror of hers.

"Why does she have to be with Malfoy?" Although Hermione had already heard from Ron and Harry that it came down to wealth and power, she was curious as to what an insider would say.

"The Malfoys are nearly broke," he said, his eyes glittering in the dim light, "They incurred massive expenses housing an army of death eaters during the war. The cost of food alone was astronomical—and the damage to the gardens during mandatory spell practice cost a small fortune to repair. Miss Greengrass is extraordinarily wealthy. After her sister's death last year, she was left an only child and the sole heiress of her family's fortune."

"How did her sister die?"

"A spell backfired on her. They were homeschooled, you know. I have my doubts as to the quality of the education their mother and their governess provided. Still, Minerva seems to have great faith in her abilities."

"So, what is the Greengrass family getting out of this marriage with the Malfoys? I can't imagine Lucius has much pull in the Ministry any more."

Severus shook his head, "None at all, as far as I can tell. As for the benefits? A link between two of the oldest families on the island is nothing to sneeze at. They're maintaining blood purity, which is very important to both families. And it opens up new pathways for them in Scotland."

"Hm. Harry and Ron said she was an only child,"

Severus raised an eyebrow at her, "And your questions led me to believe you were ignorant on the subject,"

She flushed, "not completely ignorant. But…I wanted to hear from someone who knew what they were talking about. More than just the gossip around the Ministry, that is,"

He shook his head, "The family kept to themselves. People don't know much about them other than what they release. So when only Astoria came to Hogwarts, all assumed she was the only one to send. If Lucius hadn't confided in me his relief at Daphne's death, I would probably still be as ignorant as the rest."

She nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing. There was a long silence.

"I should probably return to Gryffindor tower," she said finally. He gave her a long, enigmatic look.

"You don't want to stay to tea?" She flushed at the innuendo.

"I probably shouldn't. I don't want McGonagall to think there's any credence to what Dracula said."

He sighed loudly, "Correct, as always, Miss Granger. I'll be sure to devise an excuse for you to come down tomorrow. Another Occlumency lesson, perhaps, or assistance with another one of those wickedly difficult potions St. Mungo's is always requesting."

She grinned at him and stood to leave. He beckoned her over to his desk. She walked over slowly, aware of the tension rapidly escalating in the cool room.

She reached him. He pulled her gently between his legs, tipping her face up to meet his.

"Until tomorrow then," he said softly. His lips descended on hers, his arms gliding down her back to rest in the curve just above her buttocks. Eventually she wrenched herself away with a short, gasping breath. She knew if she stayed longer, she'd end up in his bed again.

"Until tomorrow then," she responded breathlessly. Hermione darted out of the room, the heavy door closing with a loud thud behind her.

She spent the rest of the evening in her soft bed, attempting to read Pince's books and desperately reliving the previous night in her fevered imagination.


	18. Chapter 18

AN: Thank you to all my continued readers! As always, anything recognizable is from Rowling.

"Potter?" Severus repeated, a blank look on his face. McGonagall peered at him sternly over her spectacles.

"Yes, Potter," She replied crisply.

With none of his usual grace, he seated himself in one of her firm chairs. He felt almost like a disobedient student, summoned to be lectured by his Head of House.

"Were there no Aurors who could be called upon to take the position? Or other people who might be interested in the position?" He asked, a note of desperation slipping into his voice. She shook her head.

"Potter is the only one who could possibly take the position. None of our previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professors are capable or even available to take the role. Further, the remaining Aurors are too busy attempting to train a large group rapidly to replace the ones we lost in the war. Potter has already proven himself capable of teaching students—even his peers—with a professional attitude and aplomb. It's only for the rest of the term, anyway. I'm sure we'll be able to find someone else over the summer. Perhaps Miss Granger would be a suitable replacement, even being so young."

Severus sat back in his chair, words failing him. He stared, for what seemed like an eternity, at the patterned carpet.

"Do you think he would be able to instruct his… girlfriend without succumbing to favoritism? Or one of his best friends?"

McGonagall shrugged, "As I said, he's the only one who can at the moment. I called a number of parents of current and former students. All were too busy or uncomfortable at the idea of teaching their own children. My hands are tied, Severus," She gave him a long, piercing look.

"Surely you no longer bear a grudge against the boy. Not after he and his friends saved your life in the spring. Besides, you seem to have gotten used to Miss Granger rather quickly."

He hoped he didn't look as guilty as he felt. He _had_ gotten used to her—far too used to her. To her quick wit, easy grace, near-perpetual merriment. He had even grown fond of her bushy hair and loud voice. How much of it was because of their bind, he didn't know. He no longer cared.

He sighed heavily, "I don't have a grudge against him. I like to think I've moved past my schoolboy attitudes. I just think there must be a more capable substitute. But on such short notice…" he trailed off, his hand waving vaguely. McGonagall nodded.

"I'm sure that was part of it. And with the term resuming in less than a week, I had to fill the position with unusual speed. I'm sure everything will work out though," She began to eye a large stack of paperwork on her desk with obvious impatience. Severus caught the subtle signal and rose to leave.

"Oh and Severus? Make sure no one has room to gossip about you and Miss Granger. It seems the rumor about there being more than a professional relationship between the two of you has spread. I'd hate to think there was any veracity to that," Again, she looked at him sternly. Did she actually suspect them? Was she attempting to lighten Hermione's workload? Or was she merely concerned bout their reputations?

He didn't know. He raised a cool eyebrow at her, and without another word, swept out of her room, his robes billowing behind him like a black cloud.

The black cloud followed him for the rest of the afternoon. It dimmed slightly in the early evening, when he nearly tripped over Hermione on a rarely used staircase. She was tucked away in a turn of the stair, hunched over a piece of parchment.

"Miss Granger," he said in a neutral voice. She started, looking up at him with bright eyes.

"Harry's coming back to Hogwarts!" She exclaimed, waving the paper at him. He thinned his lips.

"Yes, I'm aware,"

Her smile faded slightly, "Surely you don't still hate him over something his father did twenty years ago," She paused, looking at him thoughtfully, "or do you?"

He considered her, a messy pool of black robes with that long bushy hair trailing behind it. Stray orange and brown hairs of varying lengths were scattered along the fabric.

"I don't hate the boy. I never did. But I do find him obnoxious. I'm not exactly thrilled to have him as a colleague,"

She patted the seat next to her, but he shook his head and remained standing. With a grunt of annoyance, she stood up as well.

"It's only for the rest of the school year. I'm sure Professor McGonagall will find a replacement that suits you," she said playfully. He didn't return her cheerful smile.

"Minerva suggested," he started haltingly, "that you might be interested in the position. When you're finished here, that is," Severus looked at her thoughtfully. Would she want to stay? If she did, would she want to stay… with him? Or would she prefer someone her own age? He thought of the long nights they had spent in his laboratory and on his sofa—not in a salacious way, but in the quiet, academic manner of two people with similar interests and a passion for knowledge.

"Me?" She stared at him blankly. He nodded silently.

"I'm too young, I couldn't possibly be a professor," She said desperately. He shrugged.

"Your experience makes up for your years, I believe. You have, after all, tackled more in nineteen years than most witches or wizards do in a lifetime,"

She bit her lip and stared at the floor. It was almost childlike and a wave of revulsion at his own actions and desires swept over him. _I'm old enough to be her father_ , he thought with a sudden start. For the first time since the school year began, he was aware of his age. Was this how Lupin had felt over that obnoxious Tonks? His incessant agonizing had annoyed Severus almost to a breaking point. For once, he found himself sympathetic with the deceased werewolf.

"I have business to attend to elsewhere," he said abruptly, "Have a good evening," He swept down the stairs, fully aware that students often compared him to an oversized bat. Perhaps the description was well deserved, he thought savagely. Behind him, Hermione stood alone on the stairs, completely baffled.

She sat down again and resumed her second reading of the letter. Apart from his raptures at returning to Hogwarts ( _I knew he regretted missing out on his seventh year_ , she thought triumphantly), there was a small tidbit at the end of the letter that had caught her attention.

 _Ron has a new girlfriend. Are you okay?_

She pondered it for a long moment. It didn't surprise her at all that he had replaced her so quickly—he was a highly physical being and didn't seem to do well alone. She examined her feelings more closely. Was she at all disappointed? Not really, she had to admit to herself. She had never felt particularly attracted to him, and their relationship had seemed more of a result of circumstances than genuine romantic sentiment.

Still, she mused as she stood, she might have been more pleased at Ron's newfound happiness had her own love life been less complicated.


	19. Chapter 19

AN: This came out quicker than I expected. Hope you enjoy! As always, everything you recognize is from Rowling's work.

"Harry!" Hermione dropped her stack of books and, heedless of the amazed stares of her classmates, ran towards her friend. Harry had hardly stepped through the doors of the Great Hall when she flung herself into his arms. He staggered backwards with her full weight before awkwardly patting her on the back.

"It's good to see you too, Hermione," he said with a chuckle. She pulled away and stared at him.

"I can't believe you're a professor. Just think—Professor Potter! Lupin would be so proud if he could see you right now,"

"Yeah, he would. Sirius might have something to say though," he said with a grin. He looked her over, his smile fading.

"What's happened to you?" Her eyebrows knit together as she looked down at herself. Jeans, jumper with a hole and fraying cuffs. Nothing out of the ordinary. She looked back at him with a quizzical expression.

"You must have lost at least fifteen pounds. And these dark circles under your eyes…" he trailed off, "Are you all right?"

She bit her lip. Should she tell him about her incomplete bond with Severus? On on hand, he had always been a good friend to have in a crisis. Conversely, he seemed likely to get angry with the Potions professor and get into an altercation in the dungeon. It was always difficult to predict Harry's reaction to uncomfortable news.

"Something has happened. Something you should probably know about. It involves Snape. But—" she lowered her voice with a shifty glance around their surroundings—"the entryway of the castle is hardly the place for such a discussion. Besides, you must be eager to get settled in your new apartment!" She finished brightly with a cheerfulness she did not feel. She could tell he sensed it. Although he said nothing about it, his eyes were wary and his smile was clearly fake.

After gathering her dropped things, she helped him carry his own possessions up to his new room. It was smaller than she expected, with few windows and a drafty fireplace. Snape's apartments seemed far more luxurious than these—had he cast some kind of spell on them to seem more spacious? Knowing his penchant for the finer things in life, it seemed likely.

She left him to sort out his things. Initially, they planned to catch up over dinner; however, both quickly realized they would be sitting at different tables. Accordingly, they made tentative plans to meet in the hall in front of the Room of Requirement at midnight. Hermione was sure no one would be able to eavesdrop within the room itself.

Her stomach in knots, she made her way down to the dungeons. Why had Snape left her so abruptly the day before? Had she inadvertently made him angry by talking about Harry? She had to know. Her relationship with the professor had rapidly become one of the most meaningful in her life and she was loath to forfeit it.

She paused in front of the door and took a deep breath before raising her fist. Before she could draw back to knock again, an extremely annoyed and sweaty Severus yanked the door open.

"Is this a bad time?" She asked timidly. He shook his head silently and stood back for her to enter. The door slammed shut with a resounding thud and an uncomfortable air descended on the dim room.

"Did I…do something to upset you yesterday? Everything seemed normal and then you stormed off," She said, fiddling with a hole in her sleeve. She was almost afraid to meet his eyes, fearful of what those obsidian depths might look like.

"It's nothing to do with you," her head jerked up and he managed a slight smile, "Really. I had a moment of clarity in which—possibly for the first time—I realized that I'm old enough to be your father. It was enough to put me in an extremely foul mood. It has also made me reconsider the relationship we have entered into. It is extremely inappropriate and could cost us both our places at Hogwarts,"

She shook her head, "It's nothing we had control over. I can't help that I'm so much younger than you. Or that I accidentally created an unbreakable bond between us. Or…" she swallowed hard, "that my magic is fading and my appearance disintegrating because of this incomplete bind. Harry noticed it right off. Weight loss, dark circles under my eyes. I can't sleep at night, I can barely eat. My magic is all wrong," Hermione silently willed him to look at her directly. His head jerked up and his gaze met hers, almost unwillingly.

"And?" The word tumbled from his lips. They both knew precisely where her train of thought was going.

"Severus, I'm dying. You know it as well as I do. At best, I have another year to live. At worst, a few weeks or months. The only solution we've found is for you to bind yourself to me. It's the only way for me to live. I'm sorry."

His expression didn't change.

"You're right," he said finally, "I've been trying to find a way, to think of a potion that could help us or a spell that could sever the connection. I haven't found anything that wouldn't immediately kill either or both of us. As much as I hate to do to it—as much as I loathe to tether you to me forever—we both know it has to be done,"

She nodded slowly and, with a trembling hand, rolled up her sleeves.

"My forearm is as good a place as any for a wound, I suppose," she said with an unconvincing laugh. He raised his wand and pointed it at her exposed skin. He stared at it for a long moment before murmuring a spell.

The pain struck her as a gash, nearly the length of her hand, opened on her arm. She bit her tongue to stifle a startled cry. Severus tucked his wand into his robes and reached out to wrap his hands around her bloody flesh. She could see with some surprise that his own hands were trembling faintly. His eyebrows knit together as he concentrated. Hermione stared at the wound as well, wondering how it felt to be bound to someone. She remembered a heat spreading throughout her hands and the silvery glow from May. Why was nothing happening?

He looked at her, his face as confused as hers.

"I don't understand,"

She shook her head, "Neither do I,"

He pulled his hands away. They were covered in her blood, which continued to flow profusely from her arm. He went over to his desk and pulled a small bottle from a drawer. As he carefully dropped the liquid on her arm, the wound seemed to pull itself together and heal.

"Dittany," she whispered. He nodded, replacing the stopper in the bottle.

"Why didn't it work?" She asked as he moved back towards his desk.

"I don't know. The books didn't say anything about binds failing to happen even when the… binder greatly wishes it to."

She began to pace, "The only requirements I remember are for there to be a wound and 'excessive sentiment' on the part of the binder. There was definitely a wound, but was there enough sentiment?" Hermione looked at him nervously. Was she asking him to declare himself? It certainly felt so.

He looked at her seriously, "I cannot imagine having stronger feelings for you than I already do. This part of you that possesses me is overwhelming. I think about you day and night. Separation from you is almost physically painful. At this point, a life without you would be unbearable," his voice had grown ragged. She was taken aback by his raw emotion and leaned heavily on the nearest desk.

"I had no idea," she whispered. He gave her a sharp look.

"You must have noticed my attitude, my behavior has changed dramatically. Before I speak to a child, your opinion of my words attacks me and I nearly always say something else. I've even become an easier grader. Who knows, I may even find it within myself to embrace Potter," he gave a smile that was more grimace than grin.

"I didn't know you had become nicer towards everyone else. I had just noticed that you no longer made comments about my appearance or called me an insufferable know-it-all,"

He strode toward her and grasped her arms, "You are still an insufferable know-it-all, but it's become endearing, rather than annoying. I'm besotted, not completely mentally destroyed," Snape said fervently with a small smile. She chuckled.

"Whatever it is, I'm glad of it. Even if the others make comments behind my back,"

His smile faded, "We've been indiscreet. I'll have to find some way to make people I believe I still detest you,"

She looked up at him, noticing how fond his expression was, "Let them talk. I told Parvati and Lavender that you hated me less than before because I was such a good assistant. Very few people know I saved your life in May, and only Madame Pomfrey knows about the bound. Though," she said with a slight frown, "Madame Pince might suspect it if she really thought about it,"

He nodded gravely, then his expression lightened suddenly.

"Tea. Tea will make us both feel better,"

She followed him into his study, seating herself in the middle of the sofa as he bustled about the fireplace.

"I'm going to tell Harry about what really happened in May," she said quietly. He gave her a sharp look.

"Do you think he can be trusted with such delicate information?"

"I think so, yes. As long as he doesn't tell Ron—and I'll make sure he doesn't—then everything should be fine. After all, he kept quite a few secrets when he was a student here. The cloak, the map, the Horcruxes. Harry knows when to keep his mouth shut,"

"If you say so," he muttered quietly. She ignored the innuendo.

They spent nearly three hours on the sofa, snuggled in the far corner of it while they drank their tea and discussed potion making.

"It's nearly time for dinner," he said finally, checking his watch. She bundled her hair in a knot on her head and took a finger-full of tea leaves. Carefully, she smeared them on the side of her face. He looked on in bemusement.

"I want people to think I've been down here working," she explained. He nodded in understanding. She went up to the Hall first, assuming an expression of annoyance. He followed nearly twenty minutes later with a sour glance around the room. She noticed with some amusement that he and Harry had been obliged to sit next to each other.

Dinner passed at the Gryffindor table in near silence. Most of her house-mates had gone home for the holidays, leaving only a couple others beside herself at the table. She was grateful for the book she had stashed in her bag, a tattered copy of Bronte's _The Professor_. It seemed almost applicable to her life.

She ate quickly and returned with speed to Gryffindor Tower and settled on one of the squashy couches to pass the time until midnight.

When the hour finally came, she slipped through the halls in silence, hoping desperately that Peeves, Filch, and Mrs. Norris would be far away from the Room of Requirement. She was in luck.

"Harry?" She whispered in the silence. Hermione heard a rustle as he removed the Invisibility Cloak. Both concentrated on the blank space of wall until a door appeared.

Once inside, Harry could not keep his voice quiet.

"What's all this about Snape? Why do you look so ill?" He demanded, crossing his arms.

"Do you remember in May, when we found him in the Shrieking Shack? And I pressed my hands to his wounds and there was that weird glow? And then we took him to Madame Pomfrey?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, it appears that we formed some sort of…bond. An unbreakable sort of bond. It used to be part of wizarding marriage rituals. The couple would each heal a wound on each other's bodies and they would be bound to each other until one died. It seems that, in saving his life in the way I did, I accidentally poured some of myself into him. And since he didn't do the same thing to me, I've grown weaker. Unless we figure out some way to break the bond or for him to bind himself to me…I'll die,"

He stared at her in disbelief, "So, like a Horcrux, then? You've put part of your soul into Snape? _Snape_?"

"Not like a Horcrux, no. If I die, then I die. No part of me will live on him except in his memory. I know, it's hard to believe—" he scoffed—"Harry, he's one of the bravest people you've ever met, and you know it as well as I do. He spent seventeen years of his life trying to keep you safe. He was just an ass to you the whole time,"

He rolled his eyes, "A bit, yeah."

"He's changed though. He's become a better person since then. Really," She added. He still looked as though he didn't believe her.

"So what's the problem? Can't he just give you a wound and bind himself with you?" He asked impatiently. She shook her head.

"It's not that simple," She rolled up her sleeve and extended her arm, showing him the scar, "we attempted that just this afternoon. It didn't work. We can't figure out why,"

"Maybe he just doesn't want to bind with you," Harry said baldly.

"It's not that at all. He's in love with me—unwillingly, perhaps—but in love nonetheless. He assured me of it just today,"

"Did you ever think he might have been lying? Does he get anything out of you dying?"

She paused, "Well, if I die…his powers will be tripled,"

Harry's eyes widened, "So, let me get this straight," Hermione groaned as he started to speak, "He's assured you that he loves you, that he wants to bind with you but can't seem to, all the while he gets three times the power. 'Mione, the man joined the Death Eaters for power. You can't trust him!"

Her eyes swelled with tears, "You don't know that. He's changed. He really has," She stared at Harry for a long moment. He looked back at her with a mix of condescension and disbelief.

"There's no point in talking to you right now. I'm going to bed," With a huff of exasperation, she left him in the Room of Requirement and made her way to the Tower. He made no attempt to follow.


	20. Chapter 20

AN: Thank you to all my readers! As usual, things that seem familiar are the work of JK Rowling. Comments are always appreciated

"I don't understand," Harry said thoughtfully. He continued to pace the length of the Room of Requirement while Hermione huddled on a squashy chair next to the fire.

"Nor do I," She sighed, not for the first time.

"Are you sure that the only things required are an 'excess of sentiment' and a wound?" He furrowed his brow in concentration. She shrugged.

"That's all I've found. No specifications on the type of wound, or if it has to be placed in a certain area. Nothing. The books are all annoyingly vague on the subject. Almost as if they never expected the practice to die out,"

"The wound Nagini gave Snape was fatal," he continued almost as if he hadn't heard her, "perhaps that's the key. Maybe we have to find a way to get you at death's door, then he can bond with you and save your life,"

She rolled her eyes, "I'm not going to give myself a mortal wound so he can swoop in and save me like some knight in greasy black armor. Besides," she pointed out, "what if that isn't the key? What if there's something else missing that we don't have? Then I'd die for nothing and he'd get all my power. Not exactly a fair deal, I think,"

He nodded slowly, "that's a good point, 'Mione. Still, something has to be done. I mean, _look_ at you," His gaze was so exasperated that she was almost offended. Even with her weight loss and the increasingly dark circles under her eyes, she didn't think her appearance warranted such condemnation. She glared at him until he blushed.

"I didn't mean that the way it came out," he mumbled apologetically.

"I didn't think so," she responded primly, "You're right, though. Anyway, we've been here for an eternity. Aren't you supposed to meet Ginny on the Quidditch Pitch at 4? It's nearly 3:45 now. You'll have to run if you're going to make it on time,"

His pale face turned even redder. He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders, "We'll figure this out. You're not going to die. I promise," he said firmly. With a brief hug, Harry left the room hastily.

Hermione stayed by the fire, gazing into the colorful flames. Without her magic—or with it as unpredictable as it had become—there was no point in her continuing with classes. As much as it pained her to do so, she knew she'd have to talk to Professor McGonagall about dropping her classes and studying independently for the upcoming NEWT exams. The idea of days without classes, without the easy camaraderie and competition with her classmates was unappealing. She imagined herself hunched over a solitary desk in the library as she read and wrote essays and spending long hours in the Room of Requirement where a backfired spell could harm only herself.

What of her Potions work? She chewed thoughtfully on her thumbnail as she contemplated Severus's reaction to her announcement. She knew he'd probably allow her use of the classroom after hours—he'd allowed her use of far more than that, after all—but he would be displeased at the idea of her abandoning her classwork for a semester of solitary study.

Moreover, she thought awkwardly, what would McGonagall say when Hermione told her of the bond between her and Severus? Would he be in trouble for pursuing a relationship with her, regardless of how much he had resisted it?

Almost unthinkingly, she staggered to her feet and traced the familiar path down to Snape's dungeon. She raised her hand to knock and was unsurprised when the door swung open, revealing his pale face.

"Granger," he said shortly. He stepped aside to allow her entrance.

"Professor," she responded in kind. He closed the door after her, almost immediately sweeping her into a tight embrace. She allowed herself to melt into his arms, her lips blindly seeking his.

After a long moment, he pulled away.

"You are not to abandon your classes," he snapped abruptly. She blinked rapidly in bemusement.

"That was fast," She muttered. He caught her quiet words and the corner of his mouth twitched in a would-be smile.

"I mean it. I know your powers aren't quite what they ought to be right now. We will find a remedy for that. Meanwhile, you may consult with Madame Pomfrey about the best option for your spellwork. I'm sure she would not be averse to writing you a letter of excuse for Professors Flitwick and McGonagall,"

He drew a deep breath and cocked his head, looking at her thoughtfully. Without a word, he turned and swished into his study. She stared after him. Was she meant to follow? Regardless of what he wanted, she decided to pursue him into the small room. He was pacing in front of the shelves, snatching books at seemingly random intervals.

"Until we figure out a way to break or complete the bind, we'll have to strengthen your magic with a potion of some sort. The only trouble is," he continued to himself, "is which one,"

He dropped the stack of books on his massive desk and, with a customary Snape flourish, seated himself in the magnificent oak chair. With a casual flick of the wrist, he conjured a similarly styled chair on the opposite side of the desk.

"I require your assistance. You are, after all, the recipient of this potion," He allowed himself a tight smile before turning to the work at hand. Silently, Hermione sat in the offered chair and reached for the topmost book in the stack. As she opened it, she was assaulted by a cloud of dust. Clearly, the tome hadn't been opened in years, if not decades.

Batting away the effluvial grime, she began to skim through the faded pages. There was no index or table of contents to be found. _Typical_ , she thought to herself. The book had to be at least two hundred years old.

Finding nothing that would suit their purpose, she set the book carefully to the side of the desk, mirroring Severus's own discard pile. Her hand on the top of the unread books, she stared at him for a moment. She watched his black eyes move rapidly through the pages, his long, slender hands deftly handling the fragile parchment, the way he blew his untidy mop out of his eyes.

"Your thoughts are not appropriate to the occasion, Miss Granger," he said silkily. He didn't bother to glance up, "You're never going to find a proper recipe if you continue along that path,"

"Perhaps we should take a break," she said boldly. She surprised even herself with her words.

"We've just begun," he said in an exasperated voice. He still refrained from looking up from his research. Annoyed, she pursued her lips and stared at him. Without thinking, she stood and walked around the desk, perching herself in his lap.

"Are you sure you don't want to take a break?" She demanded, swinging her arm around his shoulders. She felt him sag against her weight.

"How am I to say no to such an enticing little Gryffindor minx?" He asked, looking up at her. His eyes sparkled even as his face remained serious.

"You're not. That's the whole point," She responded. A grin crossed his face as he reached up to cup her jaw in his hand.

"You look beautiful when you're covered in dust," he said quietly. She swiped ineffectually at her face and looked at her palm. It was indeed coated in dirt.

"Oh," she said, staring down at it in dismay. He chuckled deep in his throat.

"I meant it," he said, capturing her lips in his. His hand slipped from her face to her shoulders, then to settle firmly around her waist. She wriggled closer.

"Would you prefer to take this somewhere else?" She asked breathlessly, breaking away from the kiss. He eyed her speculatively.

"No," he said finally. She bit her lip. Was he not interested in amorous activities? The growing bulge beneath her denim clad bottom indicated otherwise.

"Then where?"

"Right here," He wiggled an eyebrow at her.

"On your lap?" She looked down at the narrow chair. There wasn't nearly enough room for her to straddle him.

"On my desk," he said, pushing her backwards. She landed on her elbow.

"On your desk?" She repeated blankly. He nodded, saying nothing.

Hermione obligingly moved upwards, seating herself on the desk.

"I think you're overdressed for this," he stared at her, his eyes hooded and ambiguous.

"I believe I can remedy that," she said seriously. Her eyes locked on his, she removed her sweater, casually flinging it off to the floor. She reached behind her back and unhooked the bra. It joined the sweater on the floor.

Severus leaned forward and unlaced her shoes. They landed with a clatter next to her clothes. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tented.

"Don't stop on my account," he said softly. She reddened under his intense gaze and fumbled with the clasp of her jeans. With some difficulty, she slid them over her legs, tossing them to the side. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she wished she had thought to run a quick razor over her legs. Faced with her diminishing power and increasing weakness, she had allowed the strands on her lower regions to grow as wild and untamed as the hair on her head.

He didn't seem to notice or care if she was a bit prickly and unkempt. He merely eyed her remaining clothing—socks with a hole in the right toe and her green cotton panties—with speculation.

She took her time with the socks, peeling them off carefully and discarding them with little flicks.

What to do about the underwear? In a sudden flash of inspiration, she rose to kneel on the hard wooden desk and, gripping the elastic waistband with her thumbs, slid the damp article down to her bent knee.

His jaw dropped as he was now face to face with her unclad nether regions.

With a soft growl, he rose to his feet and pulled her against him, his lips seeking hers. His hands desperately sought to smooth themselves over her soft skin, kneading at her firm buttocks. He drew away slightly, lowering his head to taste one bare nipple, then the other. Hot desire flooded through her as his hand crept between her legs.

She stifled a gasp against his neck as his fingers probed between the slippery folds. Just as he was about to penetrate her with one of his long, slender fingers, they heard a knock at the door.

"Severus? McGonagall called urgently, her voice echoing through the chamber just beyond, "where are you?"


	21. Chapter 21

AN: Thanks for reading! As usual, everything familiar is from Rowling's work.

Severus groaned against Hermione's midsection, his fingers still dancing on her damp flesh.

"Minerva has impeccable timing as always," he growled. He straightened up and looked at the girl still kneeling on the desk.

"Get your shoes on," she blinked rapidly in astonishment as he magicked her clothes back on her body.

She scrambled off the desk top and and grabbed the shoes, beginning to fiddle with the laces.

"No time, just slip them on and sit back in your chair at the desk," he said, giving her a slight push. She nodded and sat down, grabbing a book at random and opening it.

Giving a final glance at the room to make sure everything was in order, he unfastened the door knob and poked his head out.

"Yes, Minerva? What could possibly be so urgent that you barge into my classroom uninvited and without knocking?"

Minerva flushed hotly.

"It's about Ardentia Dracula. She's vanished," She snapped.

Astonished, Severus exited the office slowly, attempting to keep as much of the interior hidden as possible.

"What do you mean, vanished? I thought the Aurors were keeping an eye on her until she was out of the country?"

Minerva nodded helplessly, her pale hands spread in an admission of defeat, "They were. They lost track of her in London. She was meant to eventually take the Muggle ferry to France, then return to Romania. Their Ministry already knows to expect her. And now, she's… missing,"

Severus paced, his black robes fluttering about him like a cloud of moths.

"I would say that such a thing is inconceivable, but after the way our Ministry bungled the Dark Lord's return…" he trailed off, staring thoughtfully at a particularly unattractive gargoyle.

"Have they contacted her old associates? Those that are still alive, that is?"

"The only ones that are still around are the Malfoys. They were, of course, contacted immediately. Both Lucius and Narcissa claim she has not contacted them since coming to England at all. They are both firm that they did not know she would be teaching here until Draco's first letter home,"

"And there have been no…Muggle accidents? No unusual mutilations or deaths?"

Minerva shook her head, "None. Either the Minister will have to alert the Muggle Prime Minister, who can set the police on alert, or… we'll merely have to wait until something happens. It's not a very good solution, but at the moment, I'm afraid it's the only one we have. Shacklebolt is furious, though, as you can probably imagine,"

From the office, Hermione coughed. It was a soft noise, but in the great silence of the Potions classroom during the lull of a conversation, it must as well have been the apparition crack of a house elf.

Minerva looked surprised, "Severus, do you have a guest?"

"Less of a guest and more of an assistant. Miss Granger is helping me with research," he curled his lip, "Something at which she is exceptionally practiced,"

The headmistress looked indignant at his dismissive attitude towards her favorite student. He saw her bosom began to swell as she took a deep breath.

"I am grateful for the assistance, Minerva," he said quietly. She cocked her head at him inquisitively, releasing the breath.

"Well," she said finally, "I'm glad to hear it. Now, I was hoping you might check the fortifications in the tunnels leading in and out of Hogwarts. If I recall correctly, you're the one who set them in place,"

He nodded, "Indeed. I'll do that this afternoon, once I've finished with… today's research,"

She smiled approvingly before beginning her retreat from the dungeon, "That sounds like an excellent plan. Oh, and Severus—" She turned her head back towards him, her feet still, "Do try not to be too hard on Miss Granger. I'm sure if you got to know her, you'd find her a most amiable girl,"

He inclined his head, his lips thinned to prevent laughter. If only she knew!

"I'll keep that in mind," his voice was a clear dismissal. McGonagall quickly made her exit from the damp room. Severus returned to his study, leaning casually against the door frame.

"How much of that conversation did you hear?"

She turned to him with a mischievous smile, "All of it. And now that you know me, do you find me 'most amiable'?"

He crossed the room in two quick strides and towered over her, his arms folded in a severe manner.

"I find you most irritating," he said, leaning forward, "invading my dungeon with holes in your shirts to call my attention to your bosom, leaving tangled strands of your hair all over my pillows,"

He was almost nose to nose with her.

"That does sound most annoying," she sighed, looking up at him, "but what do you propose to do about it?"

"Well," he said, straightening up, "I could keep you in here for hours, doing research. I could have my wicked way with you on my desk. With enough imagination, the possibilities are truly endless,"

She was almost breathless with anticipation, "I like the way you think. Particularly with your second idea. Having your wicked way with me on your desk would definitely teach me a lesson, wouldn't it?"

He stifled a laugh at her feigned regret.

"I know if I did that, your escapades would only escalate,"

She nodded seriously, "They really would,"

"Good," Without warning, he swept an arm around her waist, abruptly bringing her to her feet. His lips descended on hers with a fierce kiss, his tongue probing her mouth in an exotic tango. Her hands clutched desperately at his robes, as though she were trying to rip them off with sheer force. He tore his mouth from his and, pointing his wand at the door, locked it and cast the _Muffliato_ charm.

"We won't be interrupted again," he said, his voice ragged. She nodded silently, her hands moving to her own clothes. Again, she threw her clothes in a haphazard pile on the floor. His quickly joined hers.

"No preliminaries," she said against his mouth, "I want you _now_ ,"

He was taken aback by the urgency in her voice. Had it been that long since she had experienced sexual gratification? He had thought it only a few days. Nevertheless, he was rarely one to refuse a beautiful naked witch.

Still, a request was a request. He nudged her backwards until her bottom rested at the edge of the desk. He abruptly picked her up and sat her on the hard wood. Without any prompting, her knees parted to let him closer. He looked at her carefully and wordlessly pushed her backwards. She landed on her elbows. With her tousled hair, glazed eyes, and firm, naked body, she was the most tempting sight he thought he'd ever seen.

"No preliminaries?" He gasped, his fingers inching towards her damp center.

She shook her head, sending curls in every direction.

" _No_!"

He was more than ready, and by the wet slick on her inner thighs, he could tell she was too. Severus positioned himself carefully before thrusting hard. Her body arched on the desk, her fingers clutching frantically for something to hold on to. There was nothing but books in every direction. He continued the movement, his hands grasping her hips firmly. He could see that the indentations of his fingers would leave marks. Smirking to himself, he thought she would probably enjoy the reminder when she saw them.

She was incapable of speech, the only noises possible were a range of guttural moans and soft, high pitched, breathy, shrieks. He paused, his fingers kneading her hips. She opened her eyes, annoyed.

"Why did you stop?"

"Let's try something else," he suggested. Without waiting for her say-so, he withdrew from her. He saw her begin to pout and traced a long finger from her collarbone, over her flat stomach, and down to her throbbing core.

"Trust me," he said softly. She still looked uncertain, but nodded cautiously.

He lifted her up bodily and flipped her, resting her face down on the desk. Her feet, elevated to her toes, were on the floor.

"Let's see how you like this," He said fiercely, thrusting again.

Her response was even louder than before, making him particularly grateful for the silencing spell he had cast on the door. Even if McGonagall returned to nose about, she'd know nothing of their extracurricular activities. He could feel himself coming closer to a climax. Looking at the heaving body before him, he knew she had to be somewhat satisfied—hadn't she exclaimed her pleasure at least four times since they had begun? Still, it was with some small measure of dismay that he withdrew from her, hot white liquid spurting from his member and onto her damp back.

Drained, he fell forward, resting heavily on his hands. She wriggled up, nearly smacking him in the face with her round backside.

"Not bad at all," She panted, glowing. Severus was still winded, and could only manage a brief smile.

"Tea?" She asked cheerfully. He nodded and she bounded from the desk. How could she have so much energy, while he felt as though he had waded through a marsh? It must, he decided, be that had exerted all the energy while she had merely received. He made a mental note for her to be a more active participant in their next session.

She perched, still naked and partially covered with his essence, on the velvet sofa. He almost winced as he saw it, wondering how well semen could be removed from the fabric. He probably had a book on basic household spells, but such a topic could hardly be expected to be found in an ordinary tome.

Still, the prospect of post-coital tea on the couch with a lovely witch was irresistible. With an inward sigh, he joined her.

Later that evening, his arm curled around her in the darkness, he reflected that he had only been able to skim through two books over the course of the entire day. Miss Granger had turned out to be far more demanding than he had expected.


	22. Chapter 22

AN: Short chapter this time around. As always, if you recognize something, it belongs to Rowling, not me. Thanks for reading!

The following morning, Hermione trailed after Severus as he marched through the corridors.

"Have you really set up defenses in each of the old tunnels?" She asked curiously.

He nodded, saying nothing. Had he always been so taciturn before their relationship began? Sometimes it was hard to remember.

"But what kind?" She persisted, catching up to him. His strides were so much longer than hers that she felt like a Chihuahua attempting to keep up with a Great Dane.

He sighed loudly, "You'll see momentarily, Miss Granger. And may I ask you to please your comments to yourself? It is hardly necessary to narrate each question that happens to appear in your mind,"

Her jaw dropped a little. He was certainly intent on staying in character outside of the dungeon. She had almost started to think of it as _their_ dungeon, imagining a future of brewing and making love in the damp, chilly air.

They reached the statue of the one-eyed witch.

"Dissendium," he said sternly, tapping it on the hump. The statue remained motionless, the customary hole not appearing. He tapped it several more times before standing back, satisfied.

"This spell has held fast. I have, in essence, locked it. It can only be opened with the right spell. That spell is no longer 'Dissendium.'"

She tilted her head, "And what is the new one?"

He wagged a finger at her in mock admonishment, "You can hardly expect a professor to confide such valuable information to a student," he said. She flushed.

"Even me?"

"Especially you," He leaned closer, "Because if you know, then Potter will know. And the last thing we need around here is Potter finding his way out of the castle unprotected and undefended. It's time that insolent boy learned to stay put,"

"Insolent boy? He's a temporary professor! How can you talk about one of your colleagues like that?"

He glared at her, his eyebrows knit together fiercely, "Because despite his so-called qualifications, he remains an impertinent, insolent _child_!"

She pressed her lips together tightly in annoyance. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled briefly and she sensed someone else's presence. Hermione turned and noticed Draco leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

"Quite a show you're putting on there, _professor_ ," He said lazily, "one might almost believe it, had you not missed something. You've concentrated all your venom on Harry—who, I'll agree, deserves it—but," he stood and sauntered over to where they stood, "You have yet to personally insult Granger. It's obvious to anyone watching who actually knows either of you that it's all a show,"

Behind her, Hermione could feel Severus stiffen.

"What utter poppycock," he said softly.

Draco grinned, "No, it isn't. I think there was truth in what Dracula said. There's something going on between you. The whole school is whispering about it. She—" he casually gestured towards her with his elbow—"doesn't seem nearly unhappy enough to have to work for you. And she's sometimes missing from Gryffindor tower overnight, which Ginny Weasley has publicly noted several times. There's something fishy here, and I _will_ find out," With a smirk, he turned to leave.

"And just what do you plan to do with your information, once you have it?" Hermione asked, feigning a casual attitude. Draco paused and turned back to them.

"You know, I'm not sure," he said musingly, "I suppose I could blackmail the both of you, but you haven't anything I want. Neither of you are wealthy, so I couldn't get money. People trust you, but not enough for me to use you to get away with things. I don't care much about my grades anymore…" he trailed off and shrugged.

"I'll figure something out, I guess. Or perhaps I'll just keep it to myself for the time being. It's the secret I want, after all,"

He slunk away, his shoulders hunched unusually low. Hermione turned to Severus, her hands on her hips.

"Have we really been that indiscreet?" She hissed, her eyes flashing with annoyance. His lips thinned.

"I hadn't thought so, no," he said softly, "I didn't think anyone was paying attention to me. I've been trying to stay out of view since I returned,"

"So have I,"

He shook his head as though attempting to clear it of cobwebs.

"I'll have a talk with Draco. He doesn't even know what he wants. I'll make sure he doesn't try anything stupid with Professor McGonagall," He started to stride off, tucking his wand into the folds of his robes.

"Are you going after him now? Have you finished all those security checks you were supposed to make?" She called after him. He clapped a hand to his face in annoyance and stood still.

"This is ridiculous. I'm a Potions professor, not a bloody security troll. I'll talk to the boy when I've finished with this nonsense," He began to walk again, his robes billowing behind him like black clouds of annoyance, "and no dawdling!" He said sharply without turning around.

She exhaled sharply and began to trudge after him.

Some things never changed.


End file.
